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-7^ 









LESSONS IN ELOCUTION 



DRILL BOOK 



FOR l'i<.\CTlCfi OK THE 



PRINCIPLES OF VOCAL PHYSIOLOGY, 



AND FOR ACQUIRING THE ART OF 



Elocution and Oratory, 



COMPRISING ALL TUF. ESSENTIAL ELEMErTS OF 



VOCAL DELIVERY AND GESTURE, 



SCHOOLS, COLLEGES, THE PULPIT AND PRIVi^TE LEARNERS. 



<k 



ALLEN AYRAULT GRIFFITH. M.A-., 



Late Professor of Elocution in State Nokalu. 
School, Michigan. 



CHICAGO : 

ADAMS, BLACKMER, &:^1yOX PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

1872. 



:M^^aA . 








Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872. 




Ev A. A. GRIFFITH, 




In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



INTRODUCTORY SUGGESTIONS. 



A Drill Book, for training in Elocution and Oratory, should be practical 
rather than theoretical. It should furnish concise definitions, as acknowledged 
by the best authorities, with brief and varied examples for individual and 
class practice, by which an interest in the general subject may be excited, the 
taste formed, and the mind of the student led to just conclusions as to what 
is right and appropriate in the delivery of extemporaneous or written dis- 
course. We do not intend to say that instruction or drill in elocution can 
create the essential powers of a speaker, but it can and will improve and di- 
rect those powers. 

From a well-devised practical system of Elocution, we look for no more 
than we are every day receiving from established arts. All men speak and 
reason ; for these acts, as far as we know, are as natural as passion ; but the 
arts of Grammar, Logic, Rhetoric, and Elocution, teach us to do those things 
in the best manner. For, the systematizing of the principles of art signifies 
the teaching of the best manner of execution in said art. 

There is a will in man, with a system of muscles, which the common calls 
of exercise render obedient to that will, and which thereby produces motion 
in every direction not forbiden by nature. Now, there is scarcely a boy of 
any physical activity or enterprise, who does not, on seeing an accomplished 
skater, desire to imitate him ; to catch and keep the center of gravity through 
all the varieties of balance and motion. Yet, this will not prevent his fall, on 
a first trial, however natural the tie between his will and all his muscles may 
be. The truth is, that without long experience, he knows not what is to be 
done ; or, if he knows, he is unable to effect it. With some analogy to this 
case, there are many persons, not destitute of feeling or passion, who have a 
pretty fine command of the voice on the common occasions of life, but who 
betray a faltering tongue if they attempt to imitate the varied powers of the 
long-practiced speaker. When the voice is prepared by elementary training 



. INTRODUCTORY SUGGESTIONS. 

4 

the feeling which prompts the expression will find the pliant and strength- 
ened organs ready to furnish a satisfactory and elegant accomplishment of its 
designs. 

Passion, say a writer, knows more than art. It may know more than art ; 
but art sometimes knows better than passion. The display of the passions on 
memorized discourse is not always addressed to those who are under the 
sympathetic influence of those passions. AVhen it is so, or when, at mo- 
ments, the speaker can raise that sympathy, all is right that passion does. 
When, however, we are in that state of deliberation which contemplates what 
passion should be, there arises such comparisons between what we feel our- 
selves and what we ought to feel, that we are obliged to call up, from taste, 
some ideal rule to settle an uncertainty of opinion. 

It is the opinion of many that the fear of failure, on account of the want of 
a knowledge of the principles of elocution, deters many speakers from a forci- 
ble and clear exhibition of ideas and emotions. They wisely prefer monot- 
ony and tameness to affectation or rant. We claim that the practice of the 
principles of elocution gives confidence ; and if the training is continued un- 
til it becomes a habit, it becomes a part of the personal talents of the man. 
We have presented herein the results of twelve years' experience in voice cul- 
ture ; and it will be found that the descriptions and directions contained in 
this course are so simple, and the exercises and examples so numerous, that 
the comprehension of the science of elocution will be comparatively easy, and 
the application of them in practice so clearly illustrated that there will be lit- 
tle difficulty in making them our own. 

The plan will commend itself to thoughtful students, as it begins with Vo- 
cal Physiology and ends with Expression, in which are applied all the ele- 
ments of Elocution, Articulation, Quality, Pitch, Transition, Force, Stress, 
Time, Emphasis and Inflection, Pauses and Personation. 

Some suggestions are made to clergymen, and others, who have had expe- 
rience in speaking, but who can not modulate the voice, or who suffer from 
throat affections, caused by improper vocalization or imperfect breathing. 
These suggestions have been of great value in like circumstances. 

Exercises may be selected for almost all grades of students, under-gradu- 
ates, graduates, and professional men. For youth especially, the practice of 
Gesture is ccmmended, as an agreeable and graceful style once formed wiH 
not be forgotten. 

In diagrams, models, plain and practical simplicity, this book offers much 



INTRODUCTORY SUGGESTIONS. c 

that is new. For most valuable help in its preparation, acknowledgments are 
due Professo7- A. M. Bell, of London, England ; Dr. Gilbert Austin, Eng- 
land ; and Dr. Weaver, of this country, whose elaboration of Dr. Rush's sys- 
tem is most complete. 

In combining the " Drill Book" with the " Lessons in Elocution," many 
changes and improvements have been made, suggested by the experiences of 
the school room. New examples and selections have been introduced, and 
the whole book brought up to the requirements of the times. 

Hoping the student will take courage in this special department, and pre- 
pare himself for the clear and perfect expression of his thoughts, and the gems 
of our language, I submit this revised Hand-Book to his keeping. 

October, 1872. A. A. G. 



CONTENTS. 



DRILL EXERCISES. 

PAGE. 

Definitions, 13 

Analysis of Principles, _. _ 13 

Physical Culture, 14 

How to Sit, 15 

Rhetorical Gesture, 15 

Position of the Feet, ._. 16 

Semi-Circle, 17 

Relative Position of the Hands and Arms in Motion, 18 

Introduction to an Audience, 19 

Postures of the Hands and Fingers, 20 

Special Directions for Breathing, 23 

The Organs of Speech — How to Use Them, 24 

Diagram of the Organs of Speech, 25 

Voice, _. 25 

Position of Mouth (Cuts), 27 

A Good Articulation, 28 

Difficult Combinations for Pronunciation, 30 

Movements of the Speaking Voice, 32 

Elements of Expression, _. 34 

Qualities of Voice, „ 36 

Orotund Quality, 39 

Guttural Quality, 43 

Aspirate Quality, _ 44 

Tremor Quality, . 45 

Pitch of Speech, 48 

Keys of the Speaking Voice, 49 

Transition, _ _ 53 



CONTENTS. ^ 

Volume and Variety, . - 57 

Force and Stress of Voice, 58 

Radical Stress, _ - 59 

Vanishing Stress, — 60 

Median Stress, ._ 60 

Compound Stress, 61 

Time or Rate of Movement, 63 

Pauses, 66 

Inflection and Emphasis, 69 

The Emphatic Tie, 74 

The Wave of the Circumflex, .... 75 

Personation, 77 

Expression of the Passions and Emotion, 79 

Object of the Study of Elocution, 79 

Dignity, Gravity, and Solemnity, 80 

Cheerfulness, Liveliness, etc., 81 

Mirth, Wit, Joy, Rapture, etc.,... 82 

Astonishment and Surprise, 84 

Positiveness, Certainty, and Confidence, 85 

Anger, Rage, Revenge, etc., 87 

Jealousy, Envy, Indignation, etc., 88 

Plaintiveness and Deep Pathos, 89 

Humor, Impatience, Discontent, Secrecy, Mystery, etc., 90 

Suppressed Fear, Danger, Terror, and Horror, 91 

The Interrogation — Authoritative, Angry, etc., 92 

Plaintive Interrogation, Humility, Modesty, and Shame, 93 

SELECTIONS. 

Vindication of America, Everett, 94 

The Temperance Drink, J. B. Gough, 95 

Twenty Years Ago, 96 

England Against War, H. W. Beecher, 97 

The Planting of the Apple Tree W. C. Biyant, 98 

The Drummer's Bride, 100 

The Bachelor's Cane-Bottomed Chair, Thackeray, 102 

The Bells, E. A. Poe, 103 



g CONTENTS. 

A Categorical Courtship ._ log 

The Claims of Italy, io6 

Drunkards not all Brutes, ._ _ John B. Gough, 107 

The Admission of California, _ _ W. H. Seward, loS 

Poor Little Jim, Farmer, 1 10 

The Little Orator, ill 

The Smack in School, W. P. Palmer, 112 

The Lost Pantaloons, O. W. Holmes, 11 j 

Sale of Cupid, _ Translated from Meleager, 1 14 

The Elocution of the Pulpit, James Fordyce, 115 

Pyramus and Thisbe, John G. Saxe, 116 

The Merchant of Venice, Richard Grant White, iic, 

The Alarm, George Bancroft, 120 

The Lost Steamship, Fitz James O'Brien, 121 

The Sky-Lark, _ James Hogg, 124 

Discipline, 1 24 

The Town of Passage, Father Prout, 125 

The " Professor of Signs," Arranged by C. C. Childs, 126 

The Demon of the Fire,. Chas. D. Gardette, 128 

Love and Latin,. 130 

The Sculptor Boy, O. W. Holmes, 131 

"Blessed is the Man whom Thou Chastenest" Sir Richard Grant, 132 

The Frenchman and the Flea Powder — Original Version, . Prof. Raymond, 133 

Seven Ages of Man,.. Shakspeare, 134 

Opposite Examples, H. Mann, 135 

The Polish Boy, Mrs. Ann S. Stevens, 136 

Dare and Do, 140 

The Personal Character of Abraham Lincoln^ Rev. C. H. Fowler, 141 

The American Union, Kossuth, 143 

A Very Important Proceeding — Mr. Pickwick, Charles Dickens, 144 

Eternal Justice, Charles Mackay, 149 

Against Curtailing the Right of Suffrage, Victor Hugo, 15 1 

Ireland, T. F. Meager, 152 

Home and School Influence Especially Necessary in ^ y ■», p, 

Time of War, fJ* ^^' ^^^2°^^' ^53 

Cordial Submission to Lawful Authoritv a Primarv ) xt 4^ -d ^ 

Attribute of Good Citizenship, ... .^ 1 J' Newton Bateman, 155 

The Vagabonds, J- T. Trowbridge, 157 



CONTENTS. 

My Mother, Bell Bush, 159 

Waiting by the Gate,... W. C. Bryant, 161 

Thy Will be Done . J. G. Whittier, 162 

To-day and To-morrow, .. Gerald Massey, 163 

The Groves of Blarney, R. A. Millikin, 165 

Our System of Instruction Should Inculcate a Love ) -kt . -r. . cr 

of Country, ^^ Newton Bateman, 166 

The Courtin', James Russell Lowell, 168 

Socrates Snooks, From Kidd's Elocution, 1 70 

The Interests of Rich and Poor Demand Universal ) t^. x. j t>j j 

Education, j- Richard Edwards, 171 

The Farmer's Profession, . Anson S. Miller, 172 

The Old Man Dreams, Oliver Wendell Holmes, 1 74 

All Value Centers in Mind, Richard Edwards, 175 

My Darling's Shoes, 178 

The Rival Orators, Aimwell Stories, 1 79 

The Pilot John B, Gough, 182 

The Pilot, Cochran, 184 

Liberty and Union, __. Webster, 185 

Excelsior, Longfellow, 186 

The Charge of the Light Brigade, _ Tennyson, 188 

Hamlet's Instructions .Shakspeare, 189 

Definition of Eloquence Webster, 190 

Ode on the Passions, William Collins, 191 

The Brides of Enderby, Jean Ingelow, 193 

The New Church Organ, Will M. Carleton, 197 

Burial of Sir John Moore, Charles Wolfe, 199 

The Lost Heir Thomas Hood, " 00 

After School, 204 

Buzfuz versus Pickwick, Charles Dickens, 205 

Drifting, Thomas Buchanan Read, 209 

The Story of Richard Doubledick, 210 

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, Thomas Gray, 216 

Whiter than Snow, Watson, 220 

Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, 221 

Maud Muller, .John G. Whittier, 225 

Orator Puff, Thomas Moore, 22S 

Mother and Poet, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 229 



lO 



CONTENTS. 



Deacon Stokes, .. _,--. Thomas Quilp, 231 

The Three Sons, Moultrie, 234 

The Deserted Village, Oliver Goldsmith, 235 

APPENDIX. 

Pulpit Eloquence — Conditions of its Success, S. N. Griffith, A. M,, 237 



SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS. 



With a little preparation before recitation, the principles of 
the "Analysis of Elocution" contained in this book may be 
taught to a class or school in such a manner as to awaken a 
genuine interest in the subject. The teacher should lead the 
exercise, or give the model, and the pupil should follow, with- 
out hesitation, as directed. For instance : if the drill is upon 
Position or Gesture, the teacher will place himself in such a 
position as to be easily seen by all who take part, (or he may 
place a student in this conspicuous position, who will repeat the 
model from the teacher to the class,) and commence with the 
first position. All having taken it promptly, he will pass to the 
second. Great care should be taken that all have just the 
position required ; feet separated alike, body at rest, and the 
same self-control exhibited by each. The ungraceful should be 
corrected and encouraged. These positions should be repeated 
every day, in recitation. Whenever the student rises to recite, 
he may practice position, and, as he proceeds with the reci- 
tation, he may practice gesture and vocalization. Having 
practiced the positions, proceed to the fifteen systematic ges- 
tures with the right hand, as represented by the cuts ; first to 
the lower horizontal circle, then the middle, then to the upper, 
and vary the pitch of voice and force as you progress. Before 
repeating the sentences have the gestures given in concert, af- 
ter the teacher, by iiumber, then by the use of the voiuel ele- 
ments, and then by sentejiees. This exercise may be extended 
with profit until the school or class will repeat after the teacher 
a whole selection, like the " Charge of the Light Brigade," or 
" Excelsior," with appropriate gestures. For the purpose of 
cultivating an easy, graceful manner, practice walking and turn- 
ing until the student can come to rest in the proper position. 
The teacher will discourage all mannerism, affectation, or strut- 
ting. If these first principles are successfully introduced, the 
remainder of the analysis will follow naturally in the order laid 
down in the book — the teacher always leading the class in a 
II 



, 2 DRILL BOOK. 

good model. It is not intended in the foregoing drills that the 
pupils will have books. They follow the teacher. 

For conducting a reading exercise the following plan has 
been very successful in our experience. Every member of the 
class should be made to understand the object of loud reading; 
that it is to convey the thoughts of an author to sojne perso?i o?' 
persons who are supposed to be listenhig. The reader must under- 
stand an author himself before he can make another under- 
stand; hence a series of inquiries like the following, before 
reading, are important : 

What is the spirit of this selection } 

Is it Plaintive, Animated, Grave, Declamatory, or Humorous ? 
AVhat quality of voice predominates ? 

Repeat the qualities of voice with their corresponding 
emotions. 

Does this selection contain personations .? 
What is the author's object in this selection.? 
Can you say anything about the author ? 

After the selection has been read with the teacher in concert, 
request the different members of the class, separately, to step 
out and read until called to stop ; and while one reads the others 
listen, with books closed, and show the hand or make some sign, 
as soon as there is anything that is not understood. Place the 
class as far from you as is possible, and require them to read 
standing, with the book in the left hand, the upper part of it 
held below the chin so as to show the countenance, and permit 
the free use of the eyes, which should frequently be cast from 
the book to those who listen. Practice holding the book in 
concert. ist. Book in the right hand by the side — first 
position. 2d. Raise it and open it to place. 3d. Pass it to left 
hand. 4th. Right hand drop by the side. Great precision and 
promptness should be insisted on in this drill. In teaching 
Emphatic Force, let one of the students read alone until the 
emphatic word or sentence is reached, and then have all the 
class join their voices to give the expression desired. The 
students will soon be able to give the required force themselves, 
individually, by this method. Before every reading exercise, the 
class should give in concert and individually, if time permits, 
the elements of the language, exploding the vowels to acquire 
variety of Force and Pitch, and facility in the inflection of voice. 



DRILL EXERCISES. 



DEFINITIONS, 



Elocution is the embodying form, or outward expression, 
of eloquence, dependent upon exterior accomplishments, and 
cultivation of the vocal organs. 

Eloquence is the soul, or animating principle, of discourse, 
dependent upon intellectual energy and attainments. 

Oratory is the complicated and vital existence, resulting 
from the perfect harmony and combination of elocution and 
eloquence. 

Elocution, as a science, consists of rules for the just delivery of Elo- 
quence. As an art, it is Oral Eloquence, or Oratory. 

We study elocution, to acquire every external grace and accomplishment 
with which the delivery of oral language should be accompanied, whether in 
reading, recitation, or extemporaneous discourse. 

The exercises in the following pages are arranged : First, with reference 
to "■ Physical Culture ;' SECOND, " Voice Culture ;" Third, "■ Expression y 



ANALYSIS OF PRINCIPLES. 

Management of the Body, in Sitting, Stajiding, Gesture, and Use of 
the Breath. 

The Vocal Organs — Description and Use in Articulation. 
Alphabetical Elements, with their Combinations. 



14 



DRILL BOOK. 



Quality. 



ELEMENTS OF EXPRESSION. 



r Orotund. 
, Pure. J Guttural. 
I Impure, I Aspirate. 

[ Tremor. 



f Radical. 
Force | Vanishing. 

and { Median. 
Stress. | Compound. 

[ Tremor. 



I Grammatical. 
I Rhetorical. 



Pitch. 



[ Diatonic Scale. 
Chromatic Scale. 



r Quick. 
1 Very Quick. 
TlME.^ Moderate. 
I Slow. 
[Very Slow. 

f Rising. 

Inflection. ^ ^^"^"^^ 

I Circumflex. 



[ Wave. 
Transition, Personation, and Expression. 



APPLICATION OF PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE. 



PHYSICAL CULTURE. 



Gymnastic and calisthenic exercises are invaluable aids to 
the culture and development of the bodily organs, for purposes 
of vocalization. 

The organs of the voice require vigor and pliancy of muscle, to perform 
their office with energy and effect. 

Before proceeding to the vocal gymnastics, it is indispensable, almost, to 
practice a series of muscular exercises, adapted to the expansion of the chest, 
freedom of the circulation, and general vitality of the whole system. We 
suggest the following : 

First, stand firmly upon both feet, hands upon the hips, fingers in front, 
head erect, so as to throw the larynx directly over the wind-pipe in a 
perpendicular line ; bring the arms, thus adjusted, with hands pressed 
firmly against the waist, back and down, six times in succession ; the 
shoulders will be brought down and back, head up, chest thrown forward. 
Keeping the hands in this position, breathe freely, filling the lungs to 
the utmost, emitting the breath slowly. Now bring the hands, clenched 
tightly, against the sides of the chest ; thrust the right fist forward 
— keeping the head up and chest forward, whole body firm ; bring it back, 
and repeat six times ; left the same ; then both fists ; then right up six 
times ; then left ; then both ; then right down six times ; left, the same ; 



APPLICATION OF PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE. ^ - 

then both. Now clench the fists tightly, and press them under the 
arm -pits, throwing the chest as well forward as possible, shoulders down 
and back, head erect ; thrust the fists down the sides, and return, six 
times, with the utmost energy. Now, keeping the head, shoulders and 
chest still the same, extend the hands forward, palms open and facing, 
bring both back as far as the bones and muscles of the shoulders will 
admit, without bending arms at elbows. Now thrust the body to the right, 
knees and feet firm, and strike the left side with open palms, vigorously ; 
repeat, with body to the left. Now, with arms akimbo, thrust the right 
foot forward (kicking) with energy, six times ; left, same. Now place the 
clenched fists in the small of the back, with great force ; throw the whole 
body backwards, feet and knees firm, filling the lungs to the utmost, and 
uttering, as you go over, the alphabetical element, " a" then long " o" 
then long " e" If these movements have been made with great energy and 
precision, the blood is circulating freely, and the whole body is aglow ; and 
you are ready now for vocal exercises. 

Notice that the exercises include about one hundred and ten 
movements^ and may be made in five minutes^ when understood ; 
and they are so varied as to call into use almost every muscle 
of the body. 

They should be repeated daily, with increasing energy. 
HOW TO SIT. 

In reading, speaking, or singing, the student should sit erect, with both 
feet resting upon the floor ; head up, so as to use the whole trunk in res- 
piration. To rise in concert and in order, a class should bring the right 
foot back, advance left three or four inches, and when up, rest the prin- 
cipal weight of the body upon the right foot. This will place the whole 
■class vsx first position. 

RHETORICAL GESTURE. 

Gesture is the various positions and movements of the body, or of its 
different parts, employed in vocal delivery ; for it embraces that part of 
language which is addressed to the eye, as distinguished from the voice, 
which is addressed to the ear. Graceful and appropriate gesture renders 
intonation much more pleasing and effective. 

The first movements of gesture generally correspond to the natural 
tones of the voice, and are the voluntary visible symbols of expression, 
produced by '.he stronger passions of the mind. These are : i. The 
motions of the muscles of the face. 2. The change of the color of the 
xiDuntenance. 3. The expressiveness of the eyes. 4. Some sudden instinctive 



j^ DRILL BOOK. 

movements, extending to different parts, and sometimes to the whole of 
the body. These are the results of the sympathy existing between the 
action of the mind and the different parts of the body ; and more or 
less of them are always manifested by every one who, when speaking, feels 
ivhat he says. 

From this, then, it will appear that Gesture is but an accompaniment of 
vocal intonation, and, for the most part, the natural result of an efficient 
execution of the elements of expression in a good deliveiy. 

As the feet and lower limbs seem to be the foundation, we shall begin by 
giving their different positions. The. student should be careful to keep the 
body erect. 

A good voice depends upon it. An instrument, to produce a good tone, 
must be kept in tune. 

The practice of Position and. Gesture will prove a valuable aid in physical 
culture, and in acquiring a graceful address. 




We have but two Primary 
positions of the feet, in speak- 
ing : 

First — The body rests on 
the right foot, the left a little 
advanced, left knee bent. 

Second — The body rests on 
the left foot, right a little ad- 
vanced, right knee bent. 




rlRST POSITION. 



SECOND POSITION. 




We have two other posi- 
tions, which are called Secon^ 
dary. They are assumed in 
argument, appeal, or persua- 
sion. The first secondary 
position is taken from the first 
primary, by advancing the un- 
" occupied foot, and resting the 
body upon it, leaning forward, 
the right foot brought to its 
■upport. 




same as the first, the body resting 



upon the right foot. 

In assuming these positions, all movements should be made with the 
utmost simplicity, avoiding "the stage strut and parade o^ the dancing 
master." 



APPLICATION OF PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE. ^ 

Advance, retire, or change, with case, except when the action demands 
energy, or marked decision. Adopt such positions only as consist of manly 
and simple grace, and change as the sentiment or subject changes, or as you 
direct attention to different parts of the audience. Avoid moving about, or 
'■ weaving," or moving the feet or hands while speaking. 

All action should be graceful in mechanism, and definite in expressive- 
ness. 

Either arm may move with grace to the extent of half a circle, verti- 
cally or horizontally. The extremities of the semi-circle, the middle, and 
a point intermediate to the middle and each extreme, give five elevations 
and five transverse directions — in all twenly-five points^ for gesture with 
either arm, thus ■ 




Vertical Semi-circle. — ;:, zenith ; c-, elevated ; h, horizontal ; d, down- 
wards ; n.r., nadir or rest. 

Transverse Semi-circle. — c, across the body ; / fonvards ; q, oblique ; 
X, extended ; b^ backwards. 

Motions towards the Jbody indicate self-esteem, egotism, or invitation ; 
from the body, command or repulsion ; expanding gestures express liberality, 
distribution, acquiescence, or candor ; contracting gestures, frugality, 
reserve, or collection ; rising motions express suspension, climax, or appeal ; 
falling motions, completion, declaration, or response ; a stidden i'/*?^ expresses 
doubt, meditation, or listening ; a sudden movement, decision or discovery ; 
a broad and sweeping range of gesture illustrates a general statement, or 
expresses boldness, freedom, and self-possession ; a limited range denotes 



DRILL BOOK. 



diffidence or constraint, or illustrates a subordinate point ; rigidity of the 
muscles indicates firmness, strength, or effort ; laxity denotes languor or 
weakness ; sloiu motions are expressive of gentleness, caution, delibetation, 
etc. ; and qtiick motions, of harshness, temerity, etc. 



STUDIES IN GESTURE. 






APPLICATION OF PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE. jq 









INTRODUCTION TO AN AUDIENCE. 

The speaker should present himself to the audience with modesty, and 
without any show of self-consequence ; and, at the same time, he should 
avoid obsequiousness, and every thing opposed to true dignity and self- 
respect. His countenance should be composed; he should feel the importance 
of the subject and of the occasion. He should not stare, nor hasten too much 
to begin. Be deliberate and calm, and be in possession of your self-possession. 



2Q DRILL BOOK. 



POSTURES OF THE HANDS AND FINGERS. 

The prevention of awkwardness, and a security of expressiveness and 
grace, may greatly depend on the natural and agreeable positions of the 
hands and fingers. Every one knows that we can, with the hand, call or 
dismiss, invite or repel, threaten or sicpplicate, ask or deny, encouj'age or 
discourage, show joy or sorrow, detestation or fear, admiration or respect, 
and how much farther their power of expression may be extended is diffi- 
cult to say. 

The palm up generally indicates elevated sentiments ; palm down, the 
reverse. The other expressions will be governed by feehng. 

He may now, with a suitable deliberation, and with a step of moderate 
firmness and length, take his position with his face directed to the audience. 
A bow, being the most marked and appropriate symbol of respect, should be 
made on the last step going to his place upon the platform. The final bow, 
on leaving the stage, may be made on the left foot second, if it be suitable. 

In making a graceful bow, there should be a gentle bend of the whole 
body ; the center of gravity should be kept near the heel of the advanced 
foot, so as not to throw the weight of the body on the ball of it ; the eyes 
should not be permitted to fall below the person addressed ; and the arms 
should lightly move forward, and a little inward, as they naturally do when 
the boiy is bent, but without any apparent voluntary effort. 

On raising himself into the erect position from the introductory bow, the 
speaker should fall back into the first position of the advanced foot. In this 
position he commences to speak. Mr. President, Mr. Speaker, Fellow-Citi- 
zens, etc. This may be called the speaking attitude of the feet and body. 

Students, or individuals, should here stop and train themselves for some 
time. Pupils at school, and those at academies and colleges, too, may be 
trained in classes on the bow, combined with the changes of the position of 
the feet. As the pupil advances to any of the second positions, let him occa- 
sionally be directed to advance with a bow, and fall back again into the 
speaking attitude. This may be done at first in the class, and afterward 
separately before the class, by fronting the class as an audience. 

Students should never be called upon to recite before an audience until 
they have been trained in iho. positions and gestures. 

The stroke of the hand terminates on the emphatic word. Be careful not 
to ' saw the air " with the hands ; move them in curved lines. They 
should move steadily, and rest on the emphatic word, returning to the side 
after the emotion is expressed that called them into action. 

In the following sentences, the emphatic word upon which the hand rests 
is italicized. 

1. " They grew in beauty side by sideT 

2. "They filled one home \^\\h glee." (Both hands — middle circle — 
palm up.) 



APPLICATION OF PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE. 

3. " Their graves are severed far and wide.'' (Right hand on " graves' 
— lower circle — rising to middle circle on "far" and " wide," and extending 
to the right.) 

4. " 'Neath 7nount and stream and sea!' (The hand moves upward to 
upper circle on " mount," and falls to lower circle on " stream" and " sea,") 

Do not repeat the same gesture in a stanza or paragraph. In the follow- 
ing lines the palm of the right hand is up, on the word " reward," directed to 
the middle circle in front, and on the word " spurns" it is down, and moves 
to the right. It is brought to the heart on the word " bosom," and middle 
finger is pressed inward ; on the word " high" it is directed upward to upper 
circle, palm up, etc., etc. Continue the gestures without duplicating either 
to the end of the quotation : 

And his rezvard you ask ! Reward he spurns. 
For him the father's generous bosom burns ; 
For him on high the widow's /raivr shall go ; 
For him the orphans pearly tear-drops ^/^^w. 
His boon the richest e'er to mortals given — 
Approving conscience and the smile oi Heavev. 

These exercises may be repeated until the awkward and ungraceful can 
make them elegantly. Even children in the primary school may be bene- 
fitted by this drill. We add other sentences for " combination exercises" in 
gesture, position, and voice. They may be omitted until the student has 
practiced the voice exercises. 



The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 
Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'e", 

And a murmur of happiness steels through his rest — 
" O God thou hast blest me — I ask for no more." 

Ah ! what is that flame which now bursts on his eye ? 

Ah ! what is that sound which now larums his ear? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky ! 

'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere ! 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck ; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire — 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck — 

The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! 



If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's 
knife I If ye are men — follow me ! Strike down yon guard, gain the 
mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old Ther- 
mopylae ! 



DRILL BOOK. 



Look to your hearths, my lords ! 
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, 
Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes ! 
Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
Naked rebellion, with the torch and ax. 

4- 
I warn you, your labor is lost ; you will not extinguish it, you will not 
confuse it. Far easier to drag the rock from the bottom of the sea, than the 
sentiment of right from the heart of the people ! 

5. 
Quick ! man the life-boat ! see yon bark that drives before the blast ! 
There's a rock a-head, the night is dark, and the storm comes thick and 
fast. 

6. 

They did not legislate, they did not enact, but they ordained that the people 
of these United States should be free. 



Happy, proud America ! The lightnings of heaven yielded to your 
philosophy ; the temptations of earth could not seduce your patriotism. 



As Ceesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; 
as he was valiant, I honor hnii ; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. 
There are team's for his love ; joy for his fortune ; honor for his valor ; and 
death for his ambition. 

9- 
Flash'd all their sabres bare, 
Flash'd as they turned in air. 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 
All the world wonder'd . 

Plung'd in the battery-smoke 
Right thro' the line they broke ; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 

Shatter'd and sunder'd. 
Then they rode back, but not, 

Not the six hundred. 



Strike ! — as said the anvil to the hammer — 
Strike ! and never let your iron cool ! 

Up head, my boy ; speak bravely —never stammer. 
For fear the world will .set you down a fool ! 



BREATHING EXERCISES, - -^ 

We have no time allowed for shilly-shally, 

But seventy years allotted to the best : 
Dowm with the rock ; plough up the fruitful valley : 

Work out your purpose — leave to God the rest. 

You have a purpose — should have — then begin it ; 

An honest, manly purpose is a power, 
Which, if you straightway seize the minute, 

Will make its progress surer every hour. 
Build up your fortunes by it ; lay them deeply ; 

Make your foundations sure ; then, day by day. 
Rear the great walls — a fortress — never cheaply — 

Good purposes demand the great outlay. 

Strength, faith, devotion — thought and resolution ! 

These make your capital — these freely spend ! 
Once sure of your design, the execution 

Needs all that you can give it — to the end ! 
Oh ! boy — man ! what a ^\■orld is in the keeping 

Of him who nobly aims and bravely toils ; 
Wake to great deeds ! we'll all have time for sleeping. 

When " we have shuffled off our mortal coils." 



BREATHING EXERCISES. 

' Deep breathing with the lips closed, inhaling as long as 
possible, and exhaling slowly, is very beneficial. 

Having inflated the lungs to their utmost capacity, form the breath into 
the element of long o, in its escape through the vocal organs. This exercise 
should be frequently repeated, as the voice will be strengthened thereby, 
and the capacity of the chest greatly increased. Do not raise the shoulders 
or the upper part of the chest alone when you breathe. Breathe as a 
healthy child breathes, by the expansion and contraction of abdominal and 
intercostal muscles. Such breathing will improve the health, and be of 
great assistance in continuous reading or speaking. Great care is necessary 
in converting the breath into voice. Do not waste breath ; use it economi- 
cally, or hoarseness will follow. Much practice on the vocal elements, with 
all the varieties of pitch, then the utterance of words, then of sentences, and 
finally of whole paragraphs, is necessary in learning to use the breath, and 
in acquiring judgment and taste in vocalizing. Never speak when the lungs 
are exhausted. Keep them well injiated. 

SPECIAL DIRECTIONS FOR BREATHING. 

I. Place yourself in a perfectly erect but easy posture ; the weight of the 
body resting on one foot ; the feet at a moderate distance, the one in ad- 



^ . DRILL BOOK. 

vance of the other ; the arms akimbo ; the fingers pressing on the abdominal 
muscles, in front, and the thumbs on the dorsal muscles, on each side of the 
spine ; the chest freely expanded and fully projected ; the shoulders held 
backward and downward , the head perfectly vertical. 

2. Having thus complied with the preliminar}^ conditions of a free and 
unembarrassed action of the organs, draw in and give out the breath very 
fully and very slowly, about a dozen times in succession. 

3. Draw in a very full breath, and send it forth in a prolonged sound of 
the letter h. In the act of inspiration, take in as much breath as you can 
contain. In that of expiration, retain all you can, and give out as little as 
possible, merely sufficient to keep the sound of h audible. 

4. Draw in a very full breath, as before, and emit it with a lively, expulsive 
force, in the sound of h, but little prolonged, in the style of a moderate, 
whispered cough. 

5. Draw in the breath, as already directed, and emit it with a sudden and 
violent explosion, in a very brief sound of the letter h, in the style of an ab- 
rupt and forcible, but whispered cough. The breath is, in this mode of ex- 
piration, thrown out with abrupt violence. 

Each of the above exercises should be repeated often, by the student, in 
his room, or while walking ; and may be given with the gymnastic exercises 
previously introduced. 

Utter this couplet as many times as possible, with one breath : 

Come one — come all ! This rock shall fly 
From its firm base, as soon as /. 



THE ORGANS OF SPEECH.— HOW TO USE THEM. 

The lungs constitute the bellows of the speaking apparatus. 
The larynx, the pharynx, the soft palate, the nasal passage 
and the mouth, modify the breath into the elementary sounds 
of speech. 

The lungs are enclosed within the chest ; and, in healthful respiration, they 
are acted on chiefly by upward pressure of the diaphragm, or midriff, which 
separates the chest from the abdomen, and this upward pressure is caused 
by the contraction of the abdominal and dorsal muscles. (Notice the breath- 
ing of a healthy child.) 

In faulty respiration, the sides of the chest are drawn in upon the lungs, 
to force out the breath, and the natur:,! action of the diapJiragin is reversed. 
This is exemplified by stammerers. 



ORGANS OF SPEECH. ^ 

Ths breath, driven from the lungs, ascends the wind-pipe ; and its emis- 
sion is rendered audible only by the resistance which it meets with in the 
throat, the nostrils, or the mouth. 

At the top of the wind-pipe is the larynx — the seat of the voice. The 
larynx is, practically, a box, the cavity of which is susceptible of a multitude 
of modifications, affecting the pitch, force, and quality of the voice ; though 
these may be modified, also, by the tongue, teeth, and lips. The orifice 
of the larynx, the glottis, may be perfectly closed, fully expanded, or con- 
tracted in any degree, by the different muscles and the elasticity of its diifer- 
ent coats. 

DIAGRAM OF THE ORGANS OF SPEECH. 




1. The lar^'nx. 

2. The pharynx. 

3. The soft palate. 

4. The nasal passage. 

5. Back of tongue, "l 

6. Front of tongue. 

7. Point of tongue. 

8. Lips J 



When the whole of the guttural passage is fully expanded, the passing 
breath creates no sound ; but when the glottis, or aperture of the larynx, 
is definitely narrowed, by the action of the will, its edges vibrate, and pro- 
duce the sound which is called voice. 

Voice is thus the result of vibration of the edges of the 
glottis J caused by the air being propelled through by the propelling 
power beloiv. 

The edges of the glottis have been named " vocal ligaments." Above the 
glottis, and forming part of the larynx, is what may be considered as a pair 
of lips, the aperture between which is called the "superior," or " false glottis." 
The latter, and the passage between the larynx and the mouth, are suscep- 
tible of a variety of changes of shape and expansion. 

The passage between the larynx and the mouth is called the phar}'nx. 
This cavity is susceptible of various degrees of expansion and contraction ; 
and these modifications of the pharynx, assisted by the position of the pen- 



/- DRILL BOOK. 

dulous soft palate, play an important part in the formation of the elements of 
speech and expression. 

The percussive effect of consonants results mainly from the elasticity of the 
muscles of the pharynx, which compress the breath behind the articulating 
organs, in proportion as the latter restrain its issue through the mouth. 
In forming the vowels, the pharynx is for one set of sounds partially, and for 
another ^^X. fully, expanded. 

In front of the pharynx is the mouth ; and at the top of the pharynx, be- 
hind the soft palate, is the entrance to the nasal passages. When the soft 
palate is raised, it prevents the breath from passing into the nose ; and 
when it is depressed, the breath flows through the nostrils, as well as into 
the mouth. The soft palate acts the part of a double valve, closing the nasal 
passage by upward pressure, and closing the mouth by downward contact 
with the tongue. Both the passages are shut in this manner, by formmg the 
consonant " k" The oral passage is closed, and the nasal passage open, in 
forming " ng!' Both passages are open in forming the French " in" " on^' 
etc. And the oral passage is open, and the nasal passage shut, in forming 
the vowels. 

The roof of the mouth is an arch ; and the tongue, as its 
various parts — the back, the front, or the point — are presented 
to the back, the front, or the rim of the palatal arch, or the 
upper gum, gives a great variety of configurations to the channel 

of the mouth. (See cut.) 




1. Back. 

2. Front. 

3. Point. 



P^-om each of these configurations the passing breath or voice receives 
an audibly different effect, of vowel or of consonant quality. Further modi- 
fications result from the degree of contraction of the lips, the teeth, and the 
condition of the guttural passages. 



ORGANS OF SPEECH. ^^ 

To give the voice the full effect of round, smooth, and agreeable tone, the 
free use of the cavity of the mouth is indispensable ; the whole mouth must 
be thrown open, by the unimpeded action and movement of the lower 
jaw. 

A smothered, imperfect, and lifeless utterance is the necessary consequence 
of restraint in the play of this viost effective implement of speech. A liberal 
opening of the mouth is the only condition on "which a free a7td effective utter- 
ance can be proauced. 

The teeth. These instruments, by their hard and sonorous texture, serve 
to compact and define the volume of the voice, while they aid one of the im- 
portant purposes of distinct articulation in the function of speech. Used 
with exact adaptation to the office, they give a clear and distinct character to 
enunciation ; but remissly exerted, they cause a coarse hissing, resembling 
the sibilation of the inferior animals. 

The lips. These important aids to articulation, not only give distinctness 
to utterance, but fullness of effect to the sounds of the voice. Imperfectly 
used, they produce an obscure mumbling, instead of definite enunciation ; 
and, too slightly parted, they confine the voice within the mouth and throat, 
instead of giving it free egress and emissive force. In vigorous speech, right- 
ly executed, the lips are slightly rounded, and even partially, though not 
boldly, projected. 

They thus become most effective aids to the definite pi-ojection and con- 
veyance of vocal sound; they emit the voice well moulded, and, as it were 
exactly aimed at the ear. 

The following cuts will give some idea of the variety of opening and form 
the teeth, lips, and mouth assume in uttering the long and short vowels. 
All do not show the teeth quite as much as is indicated in the cut, but all 
should open them as much -. 




LONG. SHORT, 



edge, 
ell, 



LONG. SHORT. 

all, ox. 

awe, odd, 

or. what. 



28 



DRILL BOOK. 




5. 

',ONG. 



old, 
ode, 




I.ONG. SHORT. 



ooze, pull, 
^^; coo, wool, 
rule. 




ui-n, 
urr, 
bur. 



We may now enter upon the study and practice of the elements of the 
English language, for the purpose of acquiring 



A GOOD ARTICULATION. 

A good articulation consists in giving every letter in a syl- 
lable its due proportion of sound, according to the standard of 
pronunciation, and in making such a distinction between the 
syllables of which words are composed, that the ear shall with- 
out difficulty acknowledge their number, and perceive at once 
to which syllable each letter belongs. 

Where these particulars are not observed, the articulation is defective. 
A good articulation may be acquired by carefully repeating aloud, and in a 
whisper, the elements of the language. These elements are divided into 
three classes, Vocals, Sub- Vocals, and Aspirates. Vocals are pure voice, sub- 
vocals are part voice, aspirates pure breath. 

The vowels, or vocal sounds, are arranged in the following table for indi- 
yidjal and class practice : 

A long, as hi ale, fate. O long, as in old, dome. 

A short, as in at, hat. short, as in ox, not. 

A Italian, as in arm, far. long, as in move, prove. 

A broad, as in all. fall. (J lo7ig, as in mute, cube. 

E long, as in eve, mete. U short, as in up, tub. 

E short, as in end, bend. U middle, as /;; pull, push. 

I long, as in ice, child. Oi, as in oil. choice, noise. 

I short, as in pin, whip. On, as in out, sound. 



A GOOD ARTICULATION. ^ 

Speak the word distinctly and then the element, exploding it with variety 
of force and on different notes of the scale. For flexibility of voice and good 
articulation, there is no better exercise than the utterance of the vowel ele- 
ments with the different inflections, first rising, then falling, then the circum- 
flexes. The practice of exploding the vocal elements with a Consonant pre- 
fixed, first a Sub-Vocal Consonant, then an Aspirate, is of great value in ac- 
quiring control of the mouth, teeth, and lips. 

Sub-Vocals or Vocal Consonants should be treated, in the practice, as the 
Vocals in the preceding table. They are formed by the vibration of the 
Vocal chords, modified by the organs of speech : 

B, as in bat, bag. R, {tnlied,) run. rap.. 

D, as in dun. debt. R, as in for, far. 

G, as in gun, gag. Th as in thine, thus. 

J, as m jib, joy. V, as in vent, valve. 

2, as in let, lull. W, as in went. wall. 

M, as in man, main. F, as in yes. young. 

iV, as in nun, nay. Z, as in zeal, as, was. 

A^g, as in sing, king. Zh, or Z, as in azure leisure. 

Prolong the Sub-Vocal Consonants as follows : b at d -un. and then 

pronounce the Sub-Vocal without uttering the word. Then give the Sub- 
Vocals, with the inflections ; 

b' b' d' d' g' g- j' j' 1' r etc. 

The Aspirate Consonants should be repeated according to the table. Be 
careful not to waste breath, and utter them with no more power than they 
require in words. 

F, as in fit, fame, fife. T, as in top, time. tune. 

H, as in hat, hope, hay. Ch, as in chat, church. 

K, as in kid, car. Sh, as in shun, shade, gash. 

P, as in pit, pin, pupil. Th, as in thin, thank, thick. 

S, as in suit, dose. IVh, as in when. whit. 

The Elements, we repeat, afford a better exercise in Articulation than 
words connected to form sense. The drill on the Elements should form a 
daily exercise in all our primary schools. Change the pitch and force often, 
in reciting them. If the student will study Webster's and Worcester's Dic- 
tionaries, especially the introduction in regard to the Elements of the English 
language, he will be well repaid for his trouble. 

If we give the Elements properly, we shall have no trouble with their con- 
struction into words and sentences. 

We give below, the Elements, classified according to the action of the 
organs of speech : 

Oral and Laryngeal Sounds, (so called because they are formed by the 
mouth and larynx.) 



^Q DRILL BOOK. 

I. A-\l ; 2. ^-rm ; 3. A-n ; 4. ^-ve ; 5. Oo-ze, l.-00-k ; 6. E-rr ; 7. ^-nd ; 
8. /-n ; g. ^/-r ; 10. [/-p ; 11. 0-r ; 12. (9-n ; 13. A-\e ; 14. /-ce ;' 15. 6>-ld ; 
16. Ou-r; 17. Oi-\; 18. ^-se (verb, /^-w^jy C/-se {no\in, s/w7'i!). 

Labial, or Lip Sounds— formed by the lips. 
I. B-a.-de ; 2. /'-i./e ; 3. A/.a.-wi ; 4. ^-oe ; 5. V-z\-vt ; 6. 7^-i-/e. 

Palatic, or Palate Sounds— formed by the action of the palate. 
I. C-a-i^e ; 2. G-3i-g ; 3. F-e. 

Aspirate, or Breathing Sounds— formed by the breath. 



Nasal, or Nostril Sounds — formed by the nostrils. 
I, N-M-11 ; 2. Si-7tg. 

Lingual, or Tongue Sounds— formed by the tongue. 
I L-M-ll ; 2. i't'-ap ; 3. Fa-r. 

Syllabic Combinations — for further practice in articulation. 

Difficult Combinations for Pronunciation. 
Give the italicized Element distinctly. 



SLTid 


trembles 


frames 


hlackendst 


hedged 


b2.xb 


trembled 


framed 


croney 


vk 


han^ 


trembledst 


Xangh 


elb 


pigs 


\i-a.Xids 


rib 


laughs 


hulbs 


waggest 


hdsbed 


ribs 


laughed 


hulbed 


wagged 


end 


ribbed 


laughest 


hold 


wage 


ends 


robe 


waft 


holds 


waged 


ended 


robes 


wafts 


elf 


stran^^ 


h.a.ndedst 


robed 


waftest 


elfs 


frin^^ 


hind 


czndle 


with 


delft 


fringed 


hinds 


candles 


hequeath 


hulge 


hreath 


■^xobe 


handles 


hequeathed 


rnxlks 


hreadth 


probes 


handled 


heneath 


milked 


breadths 


probed 


handledst 


this 


silks 


hfth. 


pxobedst 


handiest 


them 


cli# 


sixth. 


probest 


fondles 


then 


cli#r 


thousandth 


orb 


fondled 


truchles 


glow 


mulct 


orbed 


fondledst 


trucklest 


glows 


mulcts 


orbs 


Xondlest 


truckled 


glozvcd 


elm 


hand 


Aove 


truckledst 


mangles 


elms 


hznds 


^oves 


uncle 


mangiest 


whelmed 


tronble 


/lame 


thinZ'i- 


mangled 


whelms 


troubles 


Jlames 


t\\\nkest 


mangledst 


fallen 


tronblest 


trifle 


sacked 


haggled 


false 


troubled 


trifles 


packed 


haggles 


fallest 


troub ledst 


trifled 


hlacken 


bragged 


hats 


pehble 


trifledst 


hlackens 


hraggedst 


halts 


p^bles 


tri/lest 


hlackenst 


hrags 


Selves 


tremble 


frame 


hlackened 


hedge 


shelved 



A GOOD ARTICULATION. 



31 



ba//x 


entombed 


?i\nched 


chps 


surf 


^Ich 


entombedst 


eYincid 


cWppest 


hwrgk 


iilched 


ban^j- 


\\z.ngs 


clipped 


hurghs 


vf^d^lth 


senififj/ 


hsinged 


chppedst 


harge 


'htd.lths 


x^xige 


S07lgS 


h^rbs 


urged 


tmth 


xzx\ged 


stve7tgt/t 


h2.rbed 


\vark 


Xrwtlis i-ake 


wz.nts 


plwzk 


hsixbest 


harked 


hum//^ry 


v:eniest 


xv^pled 


hzxbedsi 


2.rc 


attem/^ 


fi«j- 


x'v^pledst 


hz-rd 


dircs 


attem//j- 


^ndest 


prz.y 


hz.rds 


hdixked 


tombs 


fimch 


prz.yed 


\\\\2irfed 





I thrust three thousand thistles through the thick of 7ny thumb. 

Man watits but liitle here below, nor wants that little long. 

Foreign /raz/t?/ enlarges and liberalizes the mind. 

They were 7vreuched by the hand of violence. 

Their sitigcd tops, though bare, stand on the blasted heath. 

The strength of his nostrils is terrible. ' 

A gentle current rippled by. 

Do you like herbs in your broth ? 

Thou barb'st the dart that zvouuds thee. 

Thou barUd'st the dart by which he fell. 

Many arks were seen floating down the stream. 

There <^«ryiY'^ and hozvled, within, unseen. 

The culprit was hta-led from the Tarpeian rock. 

Wor^j-, v^-Qxds, wor^j ! 

Are the goods zvharfed? 

It was strongly urged upon him. 

Remark' st thou that ? 

Alark'st thou ? 

He snarls, but dares not bite. 

Amid, say ye ? Arf?id my lord ! 

They have ar?ns in their ha7jds. 

The delinquent was burnd in the hand, 

Wellington lea7-7idihe art of war under his brother, in India. 

A boundless song biwsts from the grove. 

It was union of hearts as well as hands. 

Ea7'tJis ample breast. 

He sea7'Lhed the house for it. 

It hu7-ts me. 

Thou hurt'st his feelings. 

Theophilus Thistle, the successful thistle sifter, in sifting a sieve full of 

unsifted thistles, thrust t/wee thousa7id thistles //trough the /^ick of his 

^,^umh. 
Perciva/'j- zxts and ^xtrar/j-. 

He boaj-''^-, he tAvi.y/'j- the teaVj to suit the sevexal sects. 
Axnidst the xnists, he thru.y^j- his fists against the iposts. 
The swan swam over the sea ; well swum, swan. The swan swam back 

again ; well swum, swan. 
He jawed six j-/eek j/im japlingj-. 
Thou 7V7'eath'dst and 77iuzzled'st the far-fetched ox. 



Avoid the affectations exemplified in the last column of the following 
table : 



-^ DRILL BOOK. 

Correct 

Orthography. Pronunciation. 

card kard 

cart kart 

guard g3-id 

regard re-gard 

candle kan-dl 

garrison gar-re-sun 

carriage 

guide 



Incorrect or Affected 
Pronunciation 

kyard 

kyart 

gyard 

re-gj'ard 

kyan-dl 

gyar-resun 

kar-ridzh kyar-ridzh 



.gid . 



guise 

guile 

beguile . 

sky 

kind 



-gil---- 
-bi-gil . 

-ski 

.kind _ . 



.gyid 
.g>-is 

- gyii 

be-g>'il 
-skyi 
.kyind 
.man-kvind 



mankind .man-kind 

catechise kat-e-kis kyat-e-kyis 

General Rule.- — Do not pervert, nor omit without good authority, the 
sound of any letter or syllable of a word. 







examples. 






Gtt 


for 


g^t. 


Souns 


for 


sounds. 


H^ 


" 


h(2ve. 


Fiels 




fielafe. 


K^tch 


" 


catch. 


Sofly 


" 


soffly. 


G^th'er 


*' 


g^th'er. 


Wepst 


" 


wep/st. 


Stzd'y 


" 


st^'ad'y. 


Kindl'st 


*« 


kindlVst. 


Crit'er 


" 


creat'ure. 


Armst 


" 


armVst. 


Good'mss 


" 


good'nc-ss. 


Gen'ral 


" 


genVr al. 


Hon'ist 


•« 


hon'est. 


Sep' rate 


" 


sep'a rate. 


Hun'dz^rd 


" 


hund'red. 


Mis'ries 


" 


misVr ies. 


Sav'zj 


" 


sav'rtge. 


Diffrence 


" 


differ ence. 


Maxf'n'ing 


£' 


morn'ing. 


Ex'lent 


" 


exV^/lent. 


Cli'mzt 




cli'nirtte. 


Comp'ny 


" 


com'prt; ny. 


Si'hmt 


" 


si'lmt. 


Liv'in 


" 


\W\ng. 


Muh'duz 




mur'ders. 


Lenth'en 




le;?^th'en. 



MOVEMENT OF THE SPEAKING VOICE. 



The speaking voice differs from the singing voice only in 
this : 

In singing, the voice is stationary on a given note for a definite time. 
In speaking, it is not stationary, but moves upward and downward to ex- 
press sense. If it moves in straight lines, it is sound without sense. This 
may be exemplified as follows : 

When the letter z, as heard in the word eye, is pronounced as an alphabet 
letter, without emotion, there will be two sounds heard in close succession. 
The first has the sound of a, in a/ (which is the third vocal element,) and the 



MOVEMENT OF THE SPEAKING VOICE. ^^ 

second, of e, in he ; a-e-ae-ae-ay-i. 'The first element is made to issue from 
the organs with a degree of fullness and force, while the second is made by 
a gradually diminishing sound, vanishing into silence. During the pronun- 
ciation, the voice gradually rises or slides upward through the interval of a 
tone ; the beginning of the a and the termination of the e being severally the 
inferior and superior extremes of this tone. This may be proven by any one 
who is able to sound the diatonic scale discreetly. Let him commence with 
a, and strike the several points of this scale, by the alternate use of a and ^, 
drawing out each as a note, and making a palpable pause between the 
sounds. This will make him familiar with the effect of these letters, when 
heard on the extremes of a tone. Then let him rise, by a slide of the voice, 
(or concretely,) through the several places of the scale, making the several 
points of a strongly, and e faintly, by the alternate use of a and <?. This 
movement will make him familiar with the concrete rise of a tone. Now, in 
repeating the a and e on the two first points of the scale, let the sound of the 
a be continued up till the voice reaches the e, and the stress on the e be 
gradually diminished into silence, and he will perceive this diminishing e to 
be the end of the sound, and also one tone in pitch higher than the com- 
mencing a. This movement of the voice is called a concrete rise of a second 
or tone. 

With a view to distinguish more definitely this movement of the voice, the 
first position, or that heard on the a in the above instance, is called the Rad- 
ical., or the Radical Movement, or the radical part of the roovement, 
because it opens or begins with a sudden fullness, on some given place of 
the scale, as from a base or root. That portion which follows or rises from 
the radical, or extends upward into the e, is called the Vanish, or the Van- 
ishing Movetnent, or the vanishing part of the movement, from its becoming 
gradually weaker and weaker, and finally vanishing away into silence, in the 
upper extreme ot the tone. 

When any one of the alphabetic elements (except the aspirs) is uttered 
with propriety and smoothness, and without any emotion, it commences with 
an abrubt fullness, and gradually decreases in its upward movement, through 
the interval of a tone, having the increments of time and rise, and the decre- 
ments of fullness and force, equably progressive. 

The following diagram may illustrate this important function of the voice 
— the radical and vanishing movement : 

I. 2. 3. 

XXX7- 

i^os. I and 2, in the above diagram, represent the risittg, and Nos. 3 and 
4 the falling concrete of the voice ; or the tipzvard and downivard vanish. 
3 



^. DRILL BOOK. 

The fallitig concrete is produced by the voice in the same manner as 
the rising, only the dircctioji is downward; commencing with the radical full- 
ness on the upper line, or higher pitch, and equably diminishing dowftward 
into silence, through the interval of a tone on the lower line, or on a lower 
degree of pitch. 

This important function of the speaking voice is not appli- 
cable to the interval of a tone only, but is equally applicable 
to every interval of the scale, from a semitone to an octave, or 
more if necessary. 

This concrete function of the voice is not only applicable to the simple 
elements of speech, but also to every syllable, for the uttering of any syllable 
is but the performance of this concrete function on that syllable. It is 
the performance of the radical and vanish, or concrete function, on any 
number of alphabetic elements, that unites these elements, by one effort 
of the voice, into syllables ; for any number of letters which can be sounded 
by the use of this concrete function, constitutes a syllable. Words may 
then, be divided into syllables, by the application of the radical and vanish- 
ing movement of the voice on them. 

The vowel elemejits are those best adapted to display the radical and con- 
crete movement of the voice, on every interval, from the semitone to the 
octave. Therefore, the opening fullness of the radical is uniformly heard on 
the vowel element of a syllable. 

The ''tone" of the uncultivated speaker, which rises to a ''sing-song" 
meaningless noise, is caused by violating this fundamental law of the speak- 
ing voice. 



ELEMENTS OF EXPRESSION. 

Elocution has two kinds of elements to treat of ; and they are very differ- 
ent from each other in their nature and application. The first are those by 
the use of which articulation is made clear, smooth, and distinct. These are 
elements of simple utterance. This is the ground work upon which the super- 
structure of our language is reared. We hope the student has thoroughly 
mastered these elements, as we now present a second class of elements. We 
may, by the use of these elements, give very different meanings to our words, 
or to any given sentence, according to the application of anyone, or any num- 
ber of them, or any one of its words, or any number, or all of them. 

Take the sentence " Thou art a man." When delivered in a 
cool and deliberate manner, it is a very plain sentence, convey- 
ing no emotion, nor emphases, nor interrogation. But when 



ELEMENTS OF EXPRESSION. 

35 

one of the words is emphasized, the sense will be very different 
from what it was in the first instance : and very different, 
again, when another word is made emphatic ; and so, again, 
whenever the emphasis is changed, the meaning is also changed : 
as, " Thou art a man." That is, thou in opposition to another, 
or because thou has proved thyself to be one. " Thou art a 
MAN." That is, a ^^;///^;;/^/2, " Thou art a man." That is, in 
opposition to " thou hast been a man," or "thou unit be one." 
" Thou art a man." That is, in opposition to the man, or a 
particular man. 

Then, again, the sentence may be pronounced in a very low 
tone of voice, and with force or without force. It may be 
raised to a fifth above the low tone, uniting a good deal of 
stress, or without stress ; and then, again, it may be heard on 
an octave, with the greatest force, or with moderate force. 
Each of these latter modes of intonation will make a very dif- 
ferent impression on an audience, according to the employ- 
ment of other elements of expression, with that of the general 
pitch. 

In addition to these, the sentence may be pronounced in a 
very low and soft tone, implying kindness of feeling. Then, in 
a whisper^ intimating secrecy or mystery. It may be heard on 
the SEMITONE, high or low, to communicate different degrees of 
Pathos. And then, again, the tremor may be heard on one 
or all of the words, to give greater intensity to other elements 
of expression which may be employed. As, also, a guttural 
emphasis may be applied, to express anger, scorn, or loathing. 
These are some, only, of the different meanings which may be 
given to this sentence of four words by the voice. A good 
reader, or speaker, then, ought not only to be able to sound 
every word correctly; he ought to know, always, the exact 
77ieaning of what he reads, and/<?^/ the sentiment he utters, and 
also to know how to give the intended meaning and emotion, 
when he knows them. 

By practice upon the different exercises herein, the student 
will not fail to recognize the emotion from the sentiment, a7id 
will be able to ^ive it. 



36 



DRILL BOOK. 



QUALITIES OF VOICE. 

By Quality of Voice is meant the kind of voice used to ex- 
press sentiment. 

We make two general divisions of Quality : Pure and Impure. These 
may be subdivided into Pure, Deepened or Orotund Quality, Tremor Quality 
Guttural Quality and Aspirate Quality. We represent these Qualities by a 
diagram, together with the emotions or ideas they express when used natu- 
rally. 



OROTUND. 




f All unemotional utterances. 
I Simple Narrative. 
Pure. -{ Introductions. 

Conversations. . 
1^ Excessive Joy. 

Pure, f Sublime Utterances. 

Deepened, J Bold Declamation. 

Orotund 1 Animated Appeals. 

Quality. [ Apostrophe. 



f Expressions of Hatred, Contempt, etc. 
Guttural Quality. \ Denunciation. 
^ ' Revenge. 

Scorn, and kindred Emotions. 



Aspirate Quality. 



Fear. 
Horror. 

Despair. 

Remorse, and kindred Emotions. 



Pity, Tenderness. 
Tremor Quality.^ Grief (excessive.) 
^ I Joy (excessive.) 

L Hope. 

Enter into the spirit of what is read ; as the emotions help to define the 
voices. It is difficult to separate these qualities of voice. Like the emo- 
tions, they shade into each other so much, that it requires long and patient 
study to express, with exactness, the ideas of an author. 

The Pure Quality is most used, and should be most zealously cultivated. 
It introduces all the other Qualities. 

Pure tone exists in two forms — subdued and moderate force : the former 
implying the repressing power of an emotion, which quiets utterance ; the 
latter being, as its name implies, a medium of style. 

The elocutionary practice best adapted to the formation of pure and 
smooth quality of voice, in the " subdued" form, consists principally in careful 



QUALITIES OF VOICE. -^ 

repetition of the tabular exercises on the " tonic" elements of the language, 
and the utterance of syllables and words containing long vowels, and in the 
reading and recitation of passages of poetry marked by the prevalence of the 
expressive tones oi pathos, solemnity^ and tranquility, as here exemplified. 

The following exercises should be practiced with the closest attention to 
the perfect purity of vocal sound, as associated with the SDirit of deep-felt but 
gentle emotion : 

Unemotional. 

I. 

A GOOD daughter ! — there are other ministries of love, more conspicuous 
than hers, but none in which a gentler, lovelier spirit dwells, and none to 
which the heart's warm requitals more joyfully respond. 

Joyous. 



You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, 
To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the glad New-Year ; 
Of all the glad New-Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day : 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May ! 



I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, 

If you do not call me loud, when the day begins to break ; 

But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay : 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May ! 



Oh ! that this lovely vale were mine ! 
Then, from glad youth to calm decline, 

My years would gently glide ; 
Hope would rejoice in endless dreams. 
And memory's oft-returning gleams. 

By peace be sanctified ! 

Narrative. 

5- 
Now comes the autumn of life — the season of the " sere and yellow leaf." 
The suppleness and mobility of the limbs diminish, the senses are less acute, 
and the impressions of external objects are less remarked. The fibres of the 
body grow more rigid : the emotions of the mind are more calm and uni- 
form ; the eye loses its lustrous keenness of expression. The mind no longer 
roams abroad with its original excursiveness ; the power of imagination is, in 
great degree, lost. Experience has robbed external objects of their illusive- 
ness ; the thoughts come home ; it is the age of reflection. It is the period 
in which we receive the just tribute of veneration and confidence from our 



DRILL BOOK. 



fellow men, if we have so lived as to deserve it ; and are entitled to the respect 
and confidence of the younger part of mankind, in exact proportion to the 
manner in which our own youth has been spent, and our maturity improved. 



Tread lightly, comrades ! Ye have laid 
His dark locks on his brow ; — 

Like life, save deeper light and shade ; — 
We'll not disturb them now. 



Tread lightly ! for 'tis beautiful — 
That blue-veined eyelid's sleep ! 

Hiding the eye death left so dull ; — • 
Its slumber we will keep ! 



This is the place — the center of the grove ; 
Here stands the oak — the monarch of the wood. 
How sweet and solemn is this midnight scene ! 
The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way 
Through skies where I could count each little sta 
The fanning west wind scarcely stirs the leaves ; 
The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed. 
Imposes silence with a stilly sound. 
In such a place as this, at such an hour — 
If ancestry may be in aught believed — 
Descending spirits have conversed with man, 
And told the secrets of the world unknown. 



The Grave of a Family. 

I wandered on, scarce knowing where I went. 
Till I was seated on an infant's grave. 
Alas ! I knew the little tenant well : 
She was one of a lovely family, 
That oft had clung around me, like a wreath 
Of flowers — the fairest of the maiden spring. 
It was a new-made grave, and the green sod 
Lay loosely on it ; yet affection there 
Had reared the stone, her monument of fame. 
I read the name I loved to hear her lisp : — 
'Twas not alone ; but every name was there. 
That lately echoed through that happy dome. 

I had been three weeks absent : — in that time. 
The merciless destroyer was at work, 
And spared not one of all the infant group. 
The last of all, I read the grandsire's name, 
On whose white locks I oft had seen her cheek — 
Like a bright sunbeam on a fleecy cloud — 



QUALITIES OF VOICE. 

39 

Rekindling in his eye the fading lustre, 
Breathing into his heart the glow of youth ; 
He died, at eighty, of a broken heart — 
Bereft of all for whom he wished to live. 

It is important that the pupil, at the very outset of vocal study, should have 
the ability of appreciating purity of tone. Unless he have some distinct per- 
ception of it — in other words, unless a model of pure tone has been formed 
in his own mind — all merely physical effort to acquire it will be likely to 
fail. 

The practice of the scale in swelling tones is chiefly relied upon by 
teachers of vocal music, for developing the voice, and for acquiring purity, 
mellowness, flexibility, and an adequate breadth of tone. 

In the application, keep in mind the distinction between the speaking 
voice and singing voice. 

OROTUND QUALITY. 

This quality of voice may be said to be a highly improved state of the 
natural voice. It is that pure, ringing, fullness of sound, which is made deep 
in the throat ; the cavity of which is made to approach that of a barrel — not 
indeed, in size, but in hollowness and roundness ; giving to the voice a re- 
verberating sound, as from a hollow cavity. 

Dr. Rush has, on the basis of the Latin phrase, constructed the term 
Orohmd as designating that assemblage of eminent qualities which constitute 
the highest characteristic of the speaking voice. He has further described it 
to be a full, clear, strong, smooth, and ringing sound, rarely heard in ordinary 
speech ; though occasionally we meet with a person who has an Orotund as 
his natural voice ; but which is never found in its highest excellence, ex- 
cept by careful cultivation. He describes the fine qualities of voice consti- 
tuting the Orotund, in the following words : 

By a fullness of voice, is meant that grave or hollow volume which ap- 
proaches to hoarseness. 

By a freedom from nasal murmur and aspiration. 

By a satisfactory loudness and audibility. 

By smoothness, or a freedom from all reedy or guttural harshness. 

By a ringing quality of voice, its resemblance to certain musical instru- 
ments. 

Persons possessing the Orotund appear to be laboring under a slight de- 
gree of hoarseness. The voice is highly agreeable to the ear, and is more 
musical and flexible than the common voice. 

The possession of the power of this voice is greatly dependent on cultiva- 
tion and management. Experiments have proved that more depends on cri 



.-, DRILL BOOK. 

40 

tivation than on natural peculiarity. Therefore, encouragement is strongly 
held out to those who are desirous of possessing it. 

Thus, the frequent exercise of the voice, in reading and declaiming aloud, 
with the utmost degree of force of which it is susceptible, is a successful and 
sure method for improving it. Persons in general have no adequate notion 
of the degree to which the voice may be improved, by the daily habit of loud 
vociferation. As soon as this strong action of the voice can be employed 
without hoarseness, it ought to be maintained for a considerable length of 
time, (say half an hour,) and if the exercise is united with a proper observance 
of ffieasure, and a full supply of air in the kings, it will be beneficial rather 
than injurious to health ; and especially if prosecuted in the open air, or in a 
large room. 

Voices have been gotten up in a fortnight, by this practice, from compara 
tive feebleness, into a well marked strength, fullness, and distinctness. 

EXAMPLES FOR PRACTICE. 



And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of heaven, 
Hell-doo}ned, and breath'st defiance here and scorn, 
Where I reign king? and to enrage thee more 
Thy King and Lord ! Back to thy /z/«ishment. 
False fugMiwQ, and to thy speed add wings. 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 
Strange horrors seize thee, and pangs unfelt before. 



The hoarse, rough voice should like a torrent 1 



3- 

Where rests the sword ? — where sleep the brave , 
Awake ! Cecropia's ally save 

From the fury of the blast. 
Burst the storm on Phocis' walls, — 
Rise ! or Greece forever falls ; 

Up ! or Freedom breathes her last ! 



Advance your standards, draw your willing swords ! 
Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully ! 
God, and Saint George ! Richmond and victory ! 



Rejoice, you men of Angiers ! ring your bells : 

King John, your king and England's, doth approach ; 

Open your gates, and give the victors way ! 



QUALITIES OF VOICE. 



Come, brands, ho ! fire-brands — To Brutus'! to Cassias'! — burn all ! Some 
to Decius' house, and some to Casca's ; some to Ligarius': — away ! go ! 

7. 
Hear, O ye nations ! hear it, O ye dead ! 
He rose, he rose, — he burst the bars of death. 
The theme, the joy, how then shall men sustain ? 
Oh I the burst gates ! crushing sting ! demolished throne I 
Last gasp of vanquished death I Shout, earth and heaven. 
That sum of good to man ! whose nature then 
Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb. 

Man, all immortal, hail ! 

Hail heaven, all lavish of strange gifts to man ! 
Thine all the glory ! man's the boundless bliss ! 



False wizard, avaunt I I have marshaled my clan : 
Their swords are a thousand, — their bosoms are one ! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock. 
But woe to his kindred and woe to his cause. 
When Albyn her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clan Ranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ; 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array ! 



Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow 
Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice. 
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! 
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven 
Beneath the keen, full moon ? Who bade the sun 
Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ! — 
God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations. 
Answer ! and let the ice-plaines echo, God I — 
And they, too, have a voice, — yon piles of snow, 
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God ! 



Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! 
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest I 
Ye eagle's playmates of the mountain storm ! 
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 
Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise ! 



42 



DRILL BOOK. 



The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 
But from its loss : to give it then a tongue 
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke 
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright 
It is the knell of my departed hours. 

Pathetic, tranquil, and solemn emotions always pass from * pure tone" to 
" orotund quality," when force or sublimity in any degree marks the language 
in which these emotions are uttered. 



The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 
The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 

And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, • 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds ; 

Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight. 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 

Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade. 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,- 

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, — 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return. 
Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 



13. 

Hail ! holy light, — offspring of Heaven, first-born. 
Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam. 
May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light. 
And never but in unapproached light 
Dwelt from eternity, — dwelt then in thee, 
Bright effluence of bright Essence incarnate ! 
Or hearest thou, rather, pure ethereal stream, 
Whose fountain who shall tell ? — Before the sun. 
Before the heavens thou wert, and, at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle didst invest 
The rising world of waters, dark and deep. 
Won from the void and formless infinite. 



QUALITIES OF VOICE. 

43 
GUTTURAL QUALITY. 

The emotions which are naturally expressed by the strongest form of Gut- 
tural quality may be denominated malignant, in contrast with others which 
may be termed genial. The former includes hatred, aversion, horror, , 
etc.; and the latter love, joy, serenity, pity, etc. 



EXAMPLES OF GUTTURAL QUALITY. 



Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee ! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold : 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
"Which thou dost glare with ! 

Hence, horrible shadow ! 
Unreal mockery, hence ! 



Call me their traitor ! — Thou injurious tribune ! 
Within thine eyes sat t^venty thousand deaths. 
In thine hands clutched as many millions, in 
Thy lying tongue BOTH numbers, I would sav, 
Thou LIE ST. 



You souls of ^^^i-^. 
That bear the shapes of men ! how have you run 
From slaves that apes would beat ! Pluto and HELL ! 
All hurt behi)id ! Backs red a.nd faces pale, 
Withy?/>/// and agued fear ! Mend, and charge home ! 
Or, by the fires of heaven I I'll leave the foe. 
And make my wars on YOU ! Look tot ! Come on ! 

4- 

Poison be their drink ! 
Gall — worse than gall — the daintiest that they taste ! 
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees ! 
Their chiefest prospect, murlhering basilisks ! 
Their softest touch, as smart as lizard's stings ! 



Thou standt's at length before me undisguised — 
Of all earth's groveling crew, the most accursed. 
Thou worm ! thou viper ! — to thy native earth 
Return ! Away ! Thou art too base for man 
To tread upon ! Thou scum ! thou reptile ! 



Be, then, his love accursed ! — since love or hate, 
To me alike, it deals eternal woe ; — 



44 



DRILL BOOK. 

Nay, cursed be thou ' since, against his, thy will 

Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 

Me miserable ' which way shall I fly 

Infinite wrath and infinite despair ? 

Which way I fly is hell ; — myself am hell ; — 

And in the lowest deep, a lower deep, 

Still threatening to devour me, opens wide — 

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. 



If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced 
me, and hindered me of half a million , laughed at my losses, mocked at my 
gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
my enemies. And what's his reason ? I am a Jew ! Hath not a Jew eyes ? 
Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? Is 
he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the 
same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same 
summer and winter, as a Christian is? If you stab us, do we not bleed? If 
you tickle us, do we not laugh ? If you poison us, do we not die ? And if 
you wrong us, shall we not revenge ' If we are like you in the rest, we will 
resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Re- 
venge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by 
Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will exe- 
cute • and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. 



ASPIRATE QUALITY. 

The agitating character of certain emotions disturbs the play of the vocal 
organs, preventing the purity of tone of tranquility, causing aspirated quality, 
or redundant breath, added to vocal sound — producing a positive impurity 
of tone, which has a grating effect on the ear. Fear, horror, disgust, aver- 
sion, and discontent, generally take this quality. To master it, begin with 
the whispering exercises. 

EXAMPLES. 



Hark ! I hear the bugles of the enemy ! They are on their march along 
the bank of the river ! We must retreat instantly, or be cut off from our 
boats ! I see the head of their column already rising over the height! Our 
only safety is in the screen of this hedge. Keep close to it — be silent — and 
stoop as you run ' For the boats ' Forward ! 



All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 

And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep ' 

All heaven and earth are still : from the high host 
Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain coast, 



45 



QUALITIES OF VOICE. 

All is concentrated in a life intense, 

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf, is lost, 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 

Of that which is of all, Creator and Defence. 

3. 

Soldiers ' You are now within a few steps of the enemy's outpost ! Our 
scouts report them as slumbering in parties around their watch-fires, and 
utterly unprepared for our approach. A swift and noiseless advance around 
that projecting rock, and we are upon them ! — we capture them without the 
possibility of resistance ! One disorderly noise or motion may leave us at 
the mercy of their advanced guard. Let every man keep the strictest si- 
lence, under pain of instant death ! 



How ill this taper bums ! — Ha ! who comes here ? 
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me ! — Art thou any thing ? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare ? 
Speak to me, what thou art ] 



Alack ! I'm afraid they have awaked, and 'tis not done ! The attempt, 
and not the deed, confounds us. Hark ' I laid their daggers ready. We 
could not miss them ! 



TREMOR QUALITY. 

The first step towards this quality is in the convulsive catch of sobbing. 
By degrees, this increases in frequency ; and the cry becomes, at last, the 
rapid iteration of the tremor. The use of the tremor increases the force of 
the expression of all other intervals ; for, since crying is the ultimate voice 
of distress, and its tremulous characteristic is adopted as the means for mark- 
ing a very great intensity of feeling, tremulous speech is the utmost practi- 
cable crying on words. When mirth or sorrow is in the mind, it is hard to 
restrain its habitual expression. It is apparent in extreme feebleness, from 
age, exhaustion, sickness, fatigue, grief, and even joy, and other feelings, in 
which ardor or extreme tenderness predominates. 

EXAMPLES. 
I. 

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man 

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ; 
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ; — 

Oh, give relief, and heaven will bless your store ! 



46 



DRILL BOOK. 



Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 
That ever lived in the tide of time. 



I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat ; 
No eye hath seen such scare-crowds ! 



My mother ! when I learned that thou w^ast dead. 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? 
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss, 
Perhaps a tear — if souls can weep in bliss ! 
Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers, Yes ! 

I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day ; 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away ; 
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 
But was it such? It was. Where thou art gon'' 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore. 
The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! 

Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern. 
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
What ardently I wished, I long believed ; 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 

Ky expectation every day beguiled — 
Dupe of to-morrow, even from a child : 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went ; 
'Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 
I learned, at last, submission to my lot ; 
But, though I less deplore thee, ne'er forgot. 

5. 

O my dear father ! — Restoration, hang 
Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made ! 

Had you not .been their father, these white flakes 
Had challenged pity of them. Was tliis a face 
To be exposed against the warring winds ? 
To stand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder? 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross lightning? — to watch, (poor perdu,) 
With this thin helm ! Mine enemy's dog, 
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father. 



QUALITIES OF VOICE, .- 



To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, 
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack ! 
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once. 
Had not concluded all ! 



Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness : accord- 
ing to the multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out my transgressions 1 
Wash me thoroughly from mme iniquity and cleanse me from my sm. For 
I acknowledge my transgressions; and my sin is ever before me. Against 
thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil m thy sight. Hide thy 
face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities ! Deliver me from blood- 
guiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation ! 



Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. 
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
And touch thy instrument a strain or two ^ 
I trouble thee too much ; but thou art willing. 
I should not urge thy duty past thy might, 
I know young bloods look for a time of rest, 
I will not hold thee long ; if I do live, 
. I will be good to thee. 

This is a sleepy tune : — O murderous Slumber ! 
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy. 
That plays thee music? — Gentle knave, good night ! 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument : 
I'll take it from thee ; and. good boy, good night I 



My boy refused his food, forgot to play, 

And sickened on the water, day by day ; 

He smiled more seldom on his mother's smile ; 

He prattled less, m accents void of guile, 

Of that wild land, beyond the golden wave, 

Where I. not he, was doomed to be a slave; 

Cold o'er his limbs the listless languor grew : 

Paleness came o'er his eye of placid blue, — 

Pale mourned the lily where the rose had died ; 

And timid, trembling, came he to my side. 

He was my all on earth. Oh ! who can speak 

The anxious mother's too prophetic woe. 

Who sees death feeding on her dear child's cheek, 

And strives, m vain, to think it is not so? 

Ah • many a sad and sleepless night I passed. 

O'er his couch, listening in the pausing blast. 

While on his brow, more sad from hour to hour 

Drooped wan dejection, like a fading flower ! 

9- 

And now my soul is poured out upon me ; the days of affliction have 
taken hold upon me. My bones are pierced in me, in the night season : 



/, O DRILL BOOK. 

and my sinews take no rest. He hath cast me into the mire ; and I am 
become like dust and ashes. I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me : 
I stand up, and thou regardest me not. Thou art become cruel to me : 
with thy strong hand thou opposest thyself against me. Thou liftest me 
up to the wind ; thou causest me to ride upon it, and dissolvest my sub- 
stance. For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house ap- 
pointed for all living ! 

PITCH. 

Pitch is ihsLt place or degree of elevation which any note or 
sound has in a scale of music, or in a scale of the compass of 
the voice. 

Much exercise on the following table should be taken, in order to famil- 
iarize the ear and the organs of the voice in this most important function. 

PITCH OF SPEECH. 



■^ 


lO 


Mi 


e e 


a a 


ah ah 


aw 


oh 


00 


u-m 


Mr. President. 


<^ 


8 


Do 


e e 


a a 


ah ah 


aw 


oh 


00 


u-rn 


Mr. President. 


5 


5 


Sol 


e e 


a a 


ah ah 


aw 


oh 


oo 


u-rn 


Mr. President. 


g 


3 


Mi 


e e 


a a 


ah ah 


aw 


oh 


oo 


u-rn 


Mr. President. 


^ 


I 


Do 


e e 


a a 


ah ah 


aw 


oh 


oo 


u-rn 


Mr. President. 



The following diagram will represent to the eye an important vocal prac- 
tice. Produce the full vowel elements with the upward and downward 
movements of the speaking voice as indicated by the figures. 



2nd. 



3rd_. 4th. 5 th. 6th. 



7th. 8th. 



^^raffis 



4-f 



The speaking voice, in good elocution^ seldom rises higher than a sixth above 
the lowest note of its compass. Supposing the lowest note which can be 
made with a full intonation to be F, the following scheme will show the 
relative pitch of keys, adapted to the expression of different kinds of senti- 
ments. 



QUALITIES OF VOICE. 
KEYS OF THE SPEAKING VOICE. 



49 



lO 




A 


Mi 




9 




G 


Re 




8 
7 




F 
E 


Do 

Si 




6 




D 


La 




5 




C 


Sol 




4 
3 


.. 


A 


Fa 
Mi 




2 




G 


Re 




^ 




F 


Do 





Vociferatio7t X 

Very spirited declainatio7i... 

Spirited declatnation 

imated discourse. 

Ordinary discourse 

Moderate conversation 

Dignified narrative 

Solejiin or sublime descriptiofi 



Young men ! ahoy ! ! 
Wherefore do you droop, - 



Three millions of people, etc. 

Gentlemen, I address the men who 

govern us, — 
Quick ! man the life-boat, — 

When public bodies are to be ad- 
dressed, — 

I remember once riding from Buffalo 
to Nigara Falls, — 

Obedience is the law of God's uni- 
verse, — 

Hark ! the deep voices replying, 

SWEAR, OH ! SWEAR — 



Pitch is produced by a more or less forcible expulsion of air through the 
glottis, aided by the contraction or dilatation of its diameter, by the ele- 
vation or depression of the larynx, and by the increased or diminished size 
or capacity of the fauces or throat. 

Gravity of sounds, or a grave sound, depends on the degree of depression 
of the larynx, and the degree of dilatation of the glottis and fauces. Acute- 
ness of sounds, or an acute sound, is dependent on the degree of elevation 
of the larynx and the degree of contraction of the glottis and fauces. Thus, 
Pitch is the result of the combined action or condition of the Larynx, 
Glottis, and Fauces. Hence, also, grave sounds appear to come from the 
chest, arising from the depression of the larynx — and acute ones, from the 
head, arising from the elevated position of the larynx. 

EXAMPLES IN PITCH. 

Quotations, from which the noted lines above are taken, are presented 
first as a guide to the student. 



{a) Ye freemen, how long will ye stifle 

The vengeance that justice inspires? 
With treason how long will ye trifle, 

And shame the proud name of your sires? 
Out, out with the sword and the rifle, 

In defence of your homes and your fires. 
The flag of the old Revolution, 

Swear firmly to serve and uphold. 
That no treasonous breath of pollution. 

Shall tarnish one star of its fold. 
Swear ! {b) 

(rt) Begin on third note. 

(b) Orotund. Eighth note of Pitch. 



50 



DRILL BOOK. 

(if) And hark, the deep voices replying 

From the graves were your fathers are lying: 
"' Swear, oh, Sicear f 

{c) Orotund. First note. 

Begin on second note, and increase. 

2. 

Obedience is the law of God's universe ; the inexorable decree of his 
providence. And evermore in the background of his love and mercy to the 
docile and penitent, hangs the cloud of destruction to the incorrigibly guilty. 
Retribution waits upon invitation. Behind all Jehovah's dealings with 
angels, men and devils, there lingers an immutable, inexorable, eternal 
MUST, {a) Obey and live, {b) refuse and perish, is the epitome of God's 
natural and spiritual economy. It rules in the moral and material worlds, in 
the destinies of individuals, of nations, and of the race. 

{a) Fifth note. 
{d) Second note, 



(a) I remember once riding from Buffalo to Niagara Falls, and said to a 
gentleman : {b) "What river is that, sir?" 

{c) " That," said he, " is the Niagara River." 

{d) " Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I ; " bright, and fair, and, glassy. 
How far off are the rapids ?" 

" Only a mile or two," was the reply. 

" Is it possible that, only a mile from us, we shall find the water in the 
turbulence which it must show when near the Falls ?" 

" You will find it so, sir." 

[e) And so I found it ; and the first sight of Niagara, I shall never forget. 
Now, launch your bark on that Niagara River. It is bright, smooth, 
beautiful, and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; the silver wake you 
leave behind adds to your enjoyment. Down the stream you glide — oars, 
sails, and helm in proper trim — and you set out on your pleasure excursion. 
Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, (f) " Young men, ahoy !" 

"What is it?" 

" The rapids are below you !" 

" Ha ! ha ! we have heard of the rapids, but we are not such fools as to 
get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm, and steer to 
the shore ; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed to the 
land ! Then on, boys ! don't be alarmed — there is no danger !" 

(g) "Young men, ahoy there!" 

" What is it ?" 

" The rapids are below you !" 

{a) Third note. 

(b) Fifth note. 

(c) Third note. 
{d) Fourth note. 

(/") Tenth note — with much feeling. Increase on the narrative preceding, so thai the 
change shall not be too abrupt. 
{g) Same as above. 

The numbers in the quotations following refer to the numbers in the key 
cf the speaking voice. 



QUALITIES OF VOICE. - j 



I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the 
prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our 
federal union. It is to that union we owe our safety at home, and our con- 
sideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union that we are chiefly in- 
debted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That union we 
reached only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adver- 
sity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate 
commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great in- 
terests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness 
of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its util- 
ity and its blessings ; and although our teritory has stretched out wider and 
wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun 
its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all, a copious fountain of 
national, social, and personal happiness. 



Gentlemen : — I address the men who govern us, and say to them, Go 
on ; cut off three millions of voters ; cut off eight out of nine ; and the re- 
sult will be the same to you, if it be not more decisive, [a) What you do 
not cut off is your own fault ; the absurdity of your policy of compression, 
your fatal incapacity, your ignorance of the present epoch, the antipathy you 
feel for it, and that it feels for you ; what you will not cut off is the times 
which are advancing, the hour now striking, the ascending movement of 
ideas, the gulf opening broader and deeper between yourself and the age, 
between the young generation and you, between the spirit of liberty and 
you, between the spirit of philosophy and you. 

(a) Increase to the end. 

6. 

But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 
Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; 
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust 
Govern the motion of a kingly eye ! 
Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow 
Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes. 
That borrow their behavior from the great. 
Grow great by your example ; and put on 
The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
Away ! and glister like the god of war ! 



GENERAL EXAMPLES IN PITCH. 

We multiply examples in pitch, as transition and modulation depend 
upon it to a great extent, and it is invaluable for voice culture. Each ex- 
ample should be dwelt upon until, without thought of the text, either the 
words or the meaning, all the energy may be given to the utterance. 



£•2 DRILL BOOi:. 



LOW — OROTUND. 



But ye— ye are changed since ye met me last ! There is something bright 
from your features passed I There is that come over your brow and eye, 
• which speaks of a world where the flowers must die ! Ye smile ; but your 
smile hath a dimness yet ; — oh, what have ye looked on since last we met ? 



HIGH — PURE. 

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men the waters are sparkling in. 
grove and glen ! Away from the chamber and sullen hearth the young leaves 
are dancing in breezy mirth ! Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood 
strains, and youth is abroad in my green domains ! 

3- 

VERY LOW — OROTUND AND GUTTURAL. 

How frightful the grave ! how deserted and drear ! with the howls of 
the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier, and the white bones all clattering to- 
gether ! 

4- 

MIDDLE PITCH — PURE. 

How peaceful the grave — its quiet, how deep ! Its zephyrs breathe calmly, 
and soft is its sleep, and flowerets perfume it with ether ! 



VERY HIGH — OROTUND. 

Lo ! the mighty sun looks forth ! Arm ! thou leader of the north ' 
Lo ! the mists of twilight fly ! We must vanish — thou must die ! 

By the sword and by the spear — by the hand that knows not fear — 
Sea-king ! nobly shalt thou fall ! There is joy in Odin's hall ! 



VARIED PITCH. 

{mid.) Borne by the winds, the vessel flies up to the thundering cloud. 
Now, tottering low, the spray-winged seas conceal the top-most shroud. 
{JiigH) " Pilot, the waves break o'er us fast ! Vainly our bark has striven !" 
{low) * Stranger, the Lord csxi rule the blast — Go, put thy trust in Heaven !" 

7. 

OROTUND — HIGH PITCH — SHOUTING. 

Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yoemen ! 
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ! 
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ' 
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! 



QUALITIES OF VOICE: 

A thousand, hearts are great within my bosom ! 
Advance our standards, set upon our foes ! 
Our ancient word of courage — fair Saint George- 
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms ! 



VARIED PITCH. 

To the deep, down, 

To the deep, down. 

Through the shades of sleep ; 
Through the cloudy strife 
Of death and of life ; 
Through the veil and the bar 
Of things that seem and are ; 
Even to the steps of the remotest throne, 
Down ! 

down ! 

down ! 



TRANSITION. 

We follow the exercises in pitch with prepared exercises in 
transition. In the practice of our profession, perhaps no ques- 
tion has been more frequently asked, by clergymen especially, 
than this : " How can I modulate and change my voice ?" " I 
am monotonous," etc. We commend the following suggestions 
and practice to such : 

There is a medium pitch of voice, differing in different individuals, from 
which ascent and descent, through its whole compass, are easy and natural. 
This is the natural ///c/^. 

It is the pitch most frequently heard in conversation. It is 
that note which predominates in good reading and speaking, and 
is always in accordance with the sentiment. 

Some speakers, almost immediately after commencing their 
discourse, run up to the top of the voice, and continue that 
pitch through the longest portion of an address, thereby pro- 
ducing a continuous elevated monotony. This is tiresome and 
offensive in the highest degree. This high pitch is commonly 
united with great loudness, with an entire defect of cadence, 



- , DRILL BOOK. 

54 

which aggravate the evil. Others, again, very soon fall to the 
lowest pitch, and are unable to rise again. They can not make 
a cadence, because they can not descend below the pitch they 
have assumed. They can not speak with force, because if the 
voice descends below a certain point, it ceases to be able to 
employ force, and finally becomes inaudible. In order, there- 
fore^ to maintain fullness and stretigth of tone, we 7nust set out with 
about the fourth degree fro7n the lowest note, front which the voice 
can be easily managed, both in its einployinent of force and modula- 
tion. Again, let the student accustom himself, by frequent 
practice, to rise and fall upon a sentence or sentences selected 
for the purpose, through the whole compass of the voice. Such 
a practice was common with ancient orators, both Roman and 
Grecian, and will be the most effectual method, after the ele- 
ments of expression are at complete command, of removing the 
blemishes above described, by giving a ready command over 
the speaking scale. 

The sentence below may be taken for exercise, which should 
be read according to the different notations exhibited by the 
numerals at the beginning of the lines and members of sen- 
tences. 

^ Though you untie the winds'^ and let them fight 
Against the^ churches f though the yesty waves 
^ Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
^ Tiiough bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown*^ down, 
■^ Though castles topple on their wardens' heads, 
^ And nature's germins tumble ^altogether, 
^Even till destruction^ sickens?^ Answer me. 

We repeat the prepared sentence with the infections, and the figui'es de- 
noting the pitch : 

^ The moon herself is lost in heav'^n ; %ut thou art for ever the same\ 
*^rejoicHng in the bright'ness of thy course\ ^ When the world is dark with 
tempests', '^when thunder rolls\ and lightning flies\ •'thou look'st in thy 
beauty from the clouds\ ^and laugh'st at the storm\ ^ But to OssHan thou 
look'st'' in vain\ 

Practice on the following with the notes changed. Increase in pitch : 

'Though you untie the winds'^ and let them fight 
^Against the churches ; '^though the yesty waves 
"^Confound and swallow navigation •''up ; 
^ Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down ; 



TRANSITION. C r 

^Though castles topple on their wardens' heads, 
'And nature's germins tumble altogether, 
^Even till destruction sickens?^ Answer me. 

^ Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the 
God of nature hath placed in our power. ^ Three millions of people, ''armed 
in the holy cause of liberty, °and in such a country as that which we possess, 
''are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. ^ Besides, 
sir, we shall not fight our battles alone ; -there is a just God who presides 
over the destinies of nations ; %nd who will raise up friends to fight our 
battles for us. ^ The battle, sir, is not to the strong. 



GENERAL DIRECTIONS. 

Modulations or transitions of the voice should be uniformly 
made at those parts of a discourse where the speaker enters on 
a new train of thought^ or where the sentiment takes a different 
turn. These parts are generally divided, in written composi- 
tion, by paragraphs ; and these are often entirely disregarded 
by many. 

Nothing relieves the ear more agreeably than a well regulated tran- 
sition. 

It should be effected temperately ; but whenever a speaker or 
reader enters on a new train of thought, notice thereof should 
be given to the ear, by the following means, differently modi- 
fied, according to existing circumstances : 

By a cha?tge in pitchy or by an alteration in time, as to quickness 
or slowness, or by a change in force, or by the use of the monotone^ 
for a short space, on serious passages, which often has a very strik- 
ing effect. 

All these means should be at the command of the speaker 
and reader, and one or more of them should be employed in the 
pronunciation of the first few sentences at every paragraph ; 
after which the voice will naturally move in a freer expansion 
of a more animated delivery. Clergymen and others will be 
able to change their manner of speaking, from a lifeless to an 
animated style by the above. 

FURTHER EXAMPLES IN TRANSITION. 

[This selection demands the entire range of the speaking voice, in pitch— all qualities. 
and varied force.] 

'Hark ! the alarm-bell, 'mid the wintry storm ! 
^Hear the loud shout ! the rattling engines swarm. 



56 



DRILL BOOxv. 

Hear that distracted mother's cry to save 
Her darling infant from a threatened grave ! 
That babe who lies in sleep's light pinions bound, 
And dreams of heaven, while hell is raging round ! 

^ Forth springs the Fireman — stay! nor tempt thy fate !— 
He hears not — heeds not, — nay, it is too late : 

^See how the timbers crash beneath his feet ' 
Oh, which way now is left for his retreat ? 
The roaring flames already bar his way. 
Like ravenous demons raging for their prey ! 
He laughs at danger, — pauses not for rest. 
Till the sweet charge is folded to his breast. 

^Now, quick, brave youth, retrace your path ; — but, lo ! 
A fiery gulf yawns fearfully below ' 
One desperate leap ! — ^lost ! ^lost ! — the flames arise 
And paint their triumph on the o'erarching skies ! 
Not lost ! again his tottering form appears ' 
The applauding shouts of rapturous friends he hears ? 
The big drops from his manly forehead roll, 
And deep emotions thrill his generous soul. 
But struggling nature now reluctant yields ;* 
Down drops the arm the infant's face that shields, 
To bear the precious burthen all too weak ; 
When, hark ! — the mother's agonizing shriek ! 
Once more he's roused, — his eye no longer swims, 
And tenfold strength reanimates his limbs ; 
He nerves his faltering frame for one last, bound, — 

''" Your child !" he cries, and sinks upon the ground ! 

^ And his reward you ask ; — reward he spurns ; 
For him the father's generous bosorn burns, — 
For him on high the widow's prayer shall go, — 
For him the orphan's pearly tear-drop flow. 
His boon, — the richest e'er to mortals given, — 
Approving conscience, and the smile of Heaven ! 



OROTUND — HIGH PITCH. 

^ Rouse, ye Romans ! — Rouse, ye slaves ! 
Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl 
To see them die ! Have ye fair daughters ? Look 
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
Dishonored ! — and if ye dare call for justice. 
Be answered by the lash ! ^ Yet, this is Rome, 
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne 
Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet, we are Romans ! 
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
Was greater than a king ! — And once again — 

^'^ Hear me, ye walls that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! — once again, I swear 
The Eternal City shall be free ! 



VOLUME AND VARIETY. 



57 



HIGH PITCH — SHOUTING, 

Hark ! The bell ! the bell !— 
The knell of tyranny ! the mighty voice 
That, to the city and the plain, to earth 
And listening heaven, proclaims the glorious tale 
Of Rome re-born, and freedom ! 



VOLUME AND VARIETY 

Of Voice, in the different degrees of pitch in transition, may be secured by 
practicing the Diatonic Scale, in which the order of succession is by skips of 
tones and semi-tones. 

The Chromatic Scales is used in elocution, for expressions of plaintiveness. 
The skips are semi-tones only. 



Diatonic Scale. 



Chromatic Scale. 



-Do- 

-Si- 

-La- 

-Sol-'i 

-Fa- 
-Mi- 

-Re- 



-Do- 



A semi-tone. 



A tone. 



A tone. - 



A tone. - ■ 



A 


semi 


tone. 


A tone. 




A 


tone. 







scale 
the 

all 

thro^ 

up 
rise 



Now 
we 

fall 

do\\'n 

thro' 
all 

the 

scale 



up 



Now 



Now 



fall 



down 



Do 



Sol 



Do 



-C- 
-B- 

-A 

.G| 

-G-' 

"1 

-F-! 



D-|g 



-C-|i3 
-B-;i2 
"" II 
-A- lo 



That the student avoid the habit of "sing-song " the scale may be spoken, 
instead of sung; as in the sentence — 



Roll on, thou deep acd dark blue ocean ! 



58 



DRILL BOOK. 



FORCE AND STRESS OF VOICE. 



Force is loudness and strength of tone. The degrees may- 
be expressed by the terms loud and soft^ st?'ong and weaky 
forcible di.x\d feeble. 

For practice of Force, select a sentence, and utter it, without reference to 
the sense, in a loud tone, then soft, then strong, then weak, etc. 

Example — Hail ! holy light ! 

Very particular attention should be given to the subject of Force, since 
that expression, which is so very important in elocution, is almost altogether 
dependent on some one or other modification of this attribute of the voice. 
It may truly be considered the light and shade of a proper intonation. 

Loud and soft are frequently united with high and lozu ; but they are not 
necessa7'ily connected, though they very frequently are. Yet a sound may be 
loud and low, as well as loud and high ; and it may be soft and high, as well 
as soft and low. 

The degrees of Force may be represented in the following notation. The 
upper line gives the notes of song — the lower, the notes of speech ; 

DEGREES OF FORCE OR STRESS. 
123456789 



/// // / mp m mf f ff fff 

All the different modifuations of Force should be applied on the above table, 
and this should be a very frequent exercise, tintil the different DEGREES of 
force can be given on every modification of stress. 

Force is loudness and strength of tone, applied in a general manner; and 
Stress is the application of Force, at the beginnijig, middle, or ending of the 
tone, or at the beginning and ending. As used by Dr. Rush, St7'ess is the 
manner of rendering Force perceptible or impressive in single sounds. 

The classification of the forms of Stress is as follows : 

1st. Radical Stress, or that in which the force of utterance is usually more 
or less " explosive," and falls on the initial, or first part of a sound. 

2nd. Median Stress^ that in which the force is expulsive or effusive, and 
swells out, whether slowly or rapidly, at the middle of a sound. 

3rd. Vanishing Stress, or that which withholds the expulsive or explosive 
force, till the " vanish," or last moment of the sound. 



FORCE AND STRESS OF VOICE. 

4th. Compound Stress, or that in wliich the voice, with more or less of ex- 
plosive force, touches forcefully and distinctly on both the initial and the 
final points of a sound, but passes slightly and almost imperceptibly over the 
middle part. 

These forms of Stress may be represented to the eye by the following 
diagram : 



Radical Stress. Median Stress. Vanishing Stress. Cojnpoicnd Stress. 



F*- 




EXAMPLES FOR PRACTICE. 

RADICAL STRESS. 

OUT with you ! — and he went out. 

Note.— Apply the greatest force to the word '' out," at the beginning of the above sen- 
tence, and you have the effect of Radical Stress. 



Whence and what art thou, execrable shape } 
And darest, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy wwCTeated front athwart my way 
To yonder gates ? 



And reckon it thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, 
Hell-doomed, and breathest defiance here, and scorn 
Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more. 
Thy king and Lord? Back to thy/?^«ishment, 
False fugiiwe ! and, to thy speed add 7uings, 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I Y>'^xsiie 
Thy lingering ; or, with one stroke of this dart, 
Strange hotxox seize thee, ^nd pangs unfelt before! 



The universal cry is — Let us march against Philip, let us fight for our 
/z'^erties, let us ^^;^quer or die ! 



MIXTURE OF RADICAL, VANISHING, AND COMPOUND STRESS. 

The game's a foot ! 
FoRovf your spirit, and upon this charge. 
Cry Godiox Harxj, Engizxid, and Saint George! 



Note. — Vanishing on "foot ;" Radical on " Follow ; 
and all are applied on the last line. 



Compound on " this charge 



6o 



DRILL BOOK. 



VANISHING STRESS. 



/, an itching/a/;«? 
You know that you are Brutus that speaks this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

Must /budge? 
Must /observe you? Must / stand and crotich 
Under your iesiy humor 'i 
O ye gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this ? 
Must / give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall /be frighted when a madman stares? 



Thou slave ! thou wretch ! thou coward I 
Thou little valiant, great in villainy ! 
Thou ever strong upon the strongest side ' 
Thou Fortune's champion, thou dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety ! 

3. 

We've sworn, by our country's assaulters, 

By the virgins they've dragged from our altars, 
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains, 
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins. 
That living, we will be victorious, 
Or that dying, our deaths shall be glorious. 

MEDIAN STRESS. 

Smoothness and dignity are the characteristics of this kind of stress. It 
gives emphasis without sharpness or violence. 

EXAMPLES. 



High on a lh?-07ie of royal f mm, which /a?' 
0\x\.-shines the wealth of 6>r-mus and of Ind. 

2, 

Roll on, thou dark and deep blue ocean, roll. 

3- 
We praise thee, O God. we acknowledge thee to be the Lord. 



Father ! Thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns ; Thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof; Thou didst look down 



FORCE AND STRESS OF VOICE. /: 

Upon the naked earth ; and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They in thy sun 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, — 
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold 
Communion with his Maker ! 



How are the mighty fallen ! Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleas- 
ant in their lives ; and in their death they were not divided ; they were 
swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions. Ye daughters of Israel, 
weep over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights ; who put on 
ornaments of gold upon your apparel ! How are the mighty fallen in the 
midst of battle ! O Jonathan ! thou wast slain in thy high places ! How 
are the mighty fallen, and the weapons ot war perished ! 

6. 

Oh ! sing unto the Lord a new song ; for he hath done marvelous things : 
his right hand and his holy arm hath gotten him the victory. Make a joy- 
ful noise unto the Lord, all the earth : make a loud noise, and rejoice, and 
sing praise. Sing unto the Lord with the harp ; with the harp, and the voice 
of a psalm. 



COMPOUND STRESS. 

This is the natural mode of ** expression" m the utterance of surprise, 
and sometimes, though less frequently, of other emotions, as contempt and 
mockery, sarcasm and railcry. 

In the instinctive uses of the voice, this function seems specially designed 
to give point and pungency to the " radical" and " vanish," or opening and 
closing portions of sounds which occupy a large space of time, and traverse 
a wide interval of the " scale." The " explosive" force at the commence- 
ment of such sounds, and the partial repetition of " explosive" utterance at 
their termination, seems to mark distinctly to the ear the space which they 
occupy, and thus intimate their significant value in feeling. 



Extreme Surprise. 

Gone to be married ! Gone to swear a peace ! 
False blood to false blood joined ! Gone to be friends ! 
Shall Lewis have Blanche, and Blanche these provinces ? 
It is not so ; thou hast misspoke, misheard, — 
Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It can not be ; — thou dost but say 't is so. 



62 



DRILL BOOK. 
2. 

Surprise, Perplexity, and Contempt. 

Servant. Where dwellest thou? 
Coriolanus. Under the canopy. 
Serv. Under the canopy ! 
Cor. Ay ! 

Serv. Where's that? 
Cor. r the city of kites and crows. 

Serv. I' the city of kites and crows! — What an ass it is! — Then thou 
dwellest with daws, too? 

Cor. No ; I serve not thy master. 



Smile on my lords : 

I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 

Strong provocations, — bitter, burning wrongs, 

I have within my heart's hot cells shut up. 

To leave you in your lazy dignities. 

But here I stand and scoff you : — here I fling 

//a/red and full deyfance in your face. 

I know thee not, nor ever saw till now 
Sight more de/ifj/able than him and thee. 

4- 

Whence these chains ? 
Whence the vile death, which I may meet this moment ? 
Whence this dishonor, but from thee, thou false one ? 

There is no great difference between Thorough and Coinpound Stress, so 
we do not give it prominence. When the Compound Stress is applied on 
short quality, it resembles very much the Radical, if indeed it does not con- 
stitute it. 

When an effort is made to apply it on short quantity it becomes unavoid- 
ably Explosive Stress. It does seem that the Median, Vanishing, and Com- 
pound possess similar expressive powers ; but the Vanishing has it a degree 
or two stronger than the Median, and the Compound a degree or two 
stronger than the Vanishing, and the Thorough a degree or two stronger 
than the Compound, rising regularly in intensity in the order in which they 
are here named. 

The following may serve to illustrate this mode of stress : 



This knows my punisher ; therefore as far 
From granting he, as I from /^6'^ging peace. 



Your Consul's merciful. For this no thanks. 
He da7'es not touch a hair of Cataline. 



63 



TIAIE, OR RATE OF MOVE.MENT, 

3. 

Bidding me depend 
Upon thy stars, tliy fortune, and thy strength ? 
And dost thou now fall over to my foes? 
Thou wear'st a lion's hide. Doft' it, for shame, 
And hang a calfs skin on those ^rrreant limbs. 

Trejnor Stress is referred to by some authors, but as it is applicable only 
where Tremor quality of voice is used, we do not see the necessity of mak- 
ing it a special subject of practice, except under Tremor quality. 

For review, repeat the element long " o" and long " e" several times, with 
increasing force with each stress. 



TIME, OR RATE OF MOVEMENT. 

In Elocution, Time is the measure or duration of sound heard in speech. 
It is long or short, slow or quick, rapid or moderate. By long quantity we 
mean a slow measured fullness of the voice, to express smoothness, and dig- 
nity of feeling. 

Time and Stress, properly combined and marked, possess two essential 
elementary conditions of aggreeable discourse, upon which other excellences 
may be engrafted. If either be feebly marked, other beauties will not re- 
deem it. A well-marked stress, and a graceful extension of time, are essen- 
tial to agreeable speech. They give brilliancy and smoothness. 

All subjects of a serious, deliberate, and dignified character, require a great 
extension of syllabic quantity. Long quantity is used for Grandeur and 
Soleinnity of description, Reverential Awe, Earnest Prayer, Ve7ieration, 
Solemfi Denunciation, Threatening and Deep Pathos. Long quantity is 
generally executed by the Median Stress. 

(Give long qicantity on the Italic words) 



Nine times the space that measures day and night 
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew 
Lay vanquished. 



yoin voices all ye living sozils. Ye birds 
That singing, up to heaven's gate ascend, 
Bear on your wings, and i7i your notes His praise. 



Before the sun, before the heavns Thou wert. 



64 



DRILL BOOK. 



We have crr'd and strayed from thy -ways, like lost sheep. We have 
done those things ^vhich we ought not to have done, and we nave left z^w- 
done those things which we ought to have done, and there is no health in us. 
But thou, O Lord! have mercy upon us miserable of/e-wders. Spare 
thou those, O God, who confess their faults, ^^store thou those who are 
penitent, acr^^r^ing to thy promises declared unto mankind in Christ y^'sus 
our Lord. And grant, O most merciful Father, for his sake, that we may 
hereafter live a godly, righteous, and j-^ber life, to the Glory of Thy holy 



Then the earth shook and trembled ; the foundations of heaven moved 
and shook, because he was wroth. There went up a smoke out of his nos- 
trils ; and fire out of his mouth devoured : coals were kindled by it. He 
bowed the heavens, also, and came down ; and darkness was under his 
feet ; and he rode upon a cherub, and did fly ; and he was seen upon the 
wings of the wind ; and he made darkness pavilions round about him, dark 
waters, and thick clouds of the skies. The Lord thundered from heaven, 
and the Most High uttered his voice ; and he sent out arrows and scattered 
them ; lightning, and discomfited them. And the channels of the sea ap- 
peared ; the foundations of the world were discovered at the rebuking of the 
Lord, at the blast of the breath of his nostrils. 

We urge the student to spend much time on exercises like the above, as 
more fail in this element of expression than in any other. 



SLOW TIME — LONG PAUSES AND QUANTITY — BREATHING FULL AND 
TRANQUIL. 

O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! whence are 
thy beams, O sun ! thy everlasting light ? Thou comest forth in thy awful 
beauty : the stars hide themselves in the sky ; the moon, cold and pale, 
sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone : who can be a 
companion of thy course ? The oaks of the mountains fall ; the miountains 
themselves decay with years ; the ocean shrinks and grows again ; the moon 
herself is lost in the heavens ; but thou art forever the same, rejoicing in the 
brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with tempests, when 
thunders roll and lightnings fly, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, 
and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain ; for he be- 
holds thy beams no more ; whether thy yellow hair floats on the eastern 
clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps, 
like me, — for a season : thy years will have an end. Thou wilt sleep in thy 
clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. 

7. 

MODERATE TIME. 

The farmer's calling is full of moral grandeur. He supports the world, is 
the partner of Nature, and peculiarly a " co-worker with God." The sun, 
the atmosphere, the dews, the rains, day and night, the seasons — all the 
natural agents — are his ministers in the spacious temple of the firmament. 



TIME, OR RATE OF MOVEMENT. /- 

Health is the attendant of his toils. The philosophy of Natm-e exercises 
and exalts the intellect of the intelligent farmer. His moral powers are en- 
nobled by the manifestations of supreme love and wisdom in every thing 
around him — in the genial air, the opening bud, the delicate flower, the 
growing and ripening fruit, the stately trees — in vegetable life and beauty, 
springing out of death and decay , and in the wonderful succession and har- 
mony of the seasons. 



QUICK TIME — BRISK MOVEMENT, SHORT QUANTITY. 

I come ! I come ! — ye have called me long ; 
I come o'er the mountains with light and song ! 
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, 
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth. 
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, 
By the green leaves opening as I pass. 

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain : 
They are sweeping on to the silvery main, — 
They ai-e flashing down from the mountain brows, — 
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, — 
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves ; 
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves ! 



QUICK TIME — INCREASE — HIGH PITCH — PURE. 

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, 

The dust like the smoke from the cannon's mouth, 

Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, 

Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 

The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 

Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 

Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; 

Evei-y nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 

With Sheridan only ten miles away ' 

Under his spurning feet, the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed ; 

And the landscape sped away behind. 

Like an ocean, flying before the wind ; 

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire. 

Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire ; — 

But, lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire ! 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 

With Sheridan only five miles away ! 



Read this example in slow time, then quick, then "cery quick. 

How does the water come down at Lodore ? 
Receding and speeding. 
And shocking and rocking, 



66 



DRILL BOOK. 

And darting and parting, 

And dripping and skipping, 

And whitening and brightening, 

And quivering and shivering. 

And hitting and splitting, 

And rattling and battling. 

And running and stunning, 

And hurrying and skurrying. 

And glittering and frittering, 

And gathering and feathering. 
And clattering and battering and shattering, 
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, 
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping. 
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing , 
And so never ending but always descending. 
Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending. 



PAUSES 

Are of two kinds : Gratnmatical and Rhetorical. 

The former pertain to the study of Grammar. They are : The comma (,) 
semicolon (;) colon (:) and period (.) ; as well as the notes of interrogation (?) 
and exclamation (') ; as also the dash ( — ) parentheses (()) and quotation 
marks (" ") are pauses which divide composition or discourse into sentences, 
and these again into smaller sections, some of which, at times, consist even 
of a single word. 

The very great importance of these points renders it imperative on us to 
study them carefully, and consider them with close attention ; for a disregard 
of them in reading, and a misapplication of them in punctuating, will, even 
in a comma, very frequently destroy the sense completely, or change it into 
something very different from what it should be. 

In primary reading, they should be explained ; but the child should not 
be required to count 07ie at a comma, two at a semicolon, etc., but should be 
told that the sense will govern the length of the pauses. If the sense requires 
rapid utterance, the pauses will be very short ; if slow utterances, the 
pauses will be long. 

Pauses in speech are to sentences what zwspiration is to respiration : the 
time for taking breath. Words in speech are to sentences what expiration is 
to rej-piration : the expulsion of breath. 

Hence, sentences must be cut up into sections, by pauses or rests, to allow 
time for inspiration, or taking breath. Words can be pronounced only 
during expiration, and pauses made during inspiration. Therefore, Pattses 
in speech and reading are used for inspiration, and words for expiration. 

The proper management of inspiration and expiration (or of breathing), in the 
process of intonation, is of the very utmost importance to a reader or public 
speaker. 



PAUSES. /- 

All that passes in the mind may be redticed to tzuo classes, which may be 
called Ideas and Emotions. By Ideas, we mean all thoughts that rise and pass 
in succession through the mind ; by Emotions, all the effects produced on the 
mind by those ideas, from the more violent agitation of the passions^ to the cahner 
feelings produced by the operation of the intellect and fancy. 

In short thoughts are the objects of the one, internal feelings of the other. 
That which serves to express the former, we call language of ideas ; that 
Avhich serves to express the latter, the language of emotions. Words are the 
signs of our ideas , tones and emphasis are the signs of our emotions. Without 
these two sorts of language, it would be impossible to communicate to the 
ear all that passes in the mind. 

We have, therefore, another kind of Pauses, called Rhetorical, or Emotional 
Fatises. 

The following general rule should be observed : 

A Rhetorical Pause should be placed immediately before or after some 
word of peculiar importance, or on which we wish to fix the hearer's atten- 
tion ; while at the same time, also, it gives a little more time to fix the thought 
more intently upon the subject. The pause before awakens curiosity and ex- 
cites expectation ; and after, it rolls back the mind to what was last said. It 
should not be repeated too frequently ; for. as it excites strong emotions, and, 
of course, raises expectation, if the importance of the matter be not fully an- 
swerable to such expectation, it occasions disappointment and disgust. 

EXAMPLES OF RHETORICAL PAUSES. 



Creation sleeps : 'tis as the general pulse of life - stood still ; 

And nature made a pause, — an awful pause, — 
Prophetic of her end. 



The stars- shall fade away,- the sun -himself - 
Grow dim - with age,-and Nature - sink -in years ; 
But thou - shalt flourish - in immortal youth,- 
Unhurt - amidst the war of elements,- 
The wreck of matter,- and the crush of worlds. 



A lowly knee to earth he bent, — his father's hand he took ; 

What was there in its touch, that all his fiery spirit shook ?- - 

That hand was cold !- -a frozen thing 1- -it dropped from his like lead !-- 

He looked up to the face above the face was of the dead ! — 

A plume waved o'er the noble brow ; - that brow was fixed and white ; 

He met, at last, his father's eves,- -but in them M^as no sight !- - 

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed but who could paint that 

gaze ? - 
They hushed their very hearts,- that say,' its horror and amaze ! 



68 



DRILL BOOK. 



Who's here so base that would be a bondman ? - If any, speak ; - for him 

have I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a Roman?- If 

any, speak ;- for him have I offended. AVho's here so vile, that will not 

love his country ? - If any, speak ; - for him have I offended. 1 pause for a 

reply. 



O thou Eternal One ! - whose presence bright 

All space doth occupy,- all motion guide! 
Unchanged- through time's all-devastating flight ! 

Thou only God ! - There is no God beside ! 
Being above all beings !- Mighty One, 

Whom none can comprehend,- and none explore ! 
Who fill'st existence - with thyself alone : 

Embracing all - supporting - ruling o'er ! 

Being -whom we call God — and know no more ! 

Discourse on written composition is generally broken up into different por- 
tions, consisting of one or a greater number of periods, and generally marked 
by a break in the composition, with an indentation of the left marginal line 
of the page, and called Paragraphic portions, or Paragraphs. 

The pause that indicates the transition from one of these portions to another, 
may, with propriety, be called the Paragraphic Pause. 

EXAMPLE. 

Have we no great names to go flaming down the ages ? When will Henry's 
clarion voice be hushed, or Warren cease to tell men how to die for liberty? 
When will Adams, and Franklin, and Jefferson, fade from history ? Is it con- 
stitutional wisdom, excellence of laws, or incentives to individual exertion? 
No other land can compare with ours in these respects. Is it grandeur of 
scenery? God has made but one Niagara, one Mississippi, one Hudson. 
Is it territorial extent ? Our domain stretches from ocean to ocean, and from 
lake to gulf. 

By all these incentives, let our school-boys be fired with an enthusiastic 
love for the dear land of their birth, the precious heritage of their fathers ; 
let them leave the school-room for the arena of active life, feeling that, next 
to God and their parents, their country claims and shall receive their best 
affections and most uncompromising devotion ; let them realize that their 
conduct will bring honor or dishonor upon their countiy, as surely as upon 
their parents and friends ; let them learn to identify themselves, as citizens, 
with the interests of the commonwealth— blushing at whatever disgraces her, 
exulting in all that contributes to her glory and renown ; let them feel that 
this great country is fheir country — that they have a personal proprietorship 
in the lustre of her history, the honor of her name, the magnificence of her 
commerce, the valor of her fleets and armies, the inviolability of her constitu- 
tion and laws, and the magnitude and beneficence of her civil, social, and re- 
ligious institutions. 

All the Elements of Expression, in their single and combined action in the 
production of the variotcs kinds of Emphasis, Qualities of Voice, Waves, 



INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. /: 

Meastires of Speech,- Transitions, Drifts and Pauses, that are intended to be 
observed in reading Prose, should be equally applied in the reading of Verse. 

There is this only difference in the intonation of poetry from that of 
prose : the use of the Cesural Pause, which can not be brought into re- 
quisition in prose, from its exclusive applicability to verse, as also the pre- 
dominance in verse of either the Common or Triple time measure of speech. 
These are the only two particulars which distinguish the intonation of poetry 
from prose. The balance of the difference consists, not in intonation, but 
arises out of the mechanical construction of the sentences ; the more or less 
regularity of the rhythm in verse, and the great irregularity of it in prose. 

We have found that when the student could manage the rhetorical pause 
well, he had little difficulty with the poetical pauses. The principle of their 
application is the same, only in poetry it is more regular and uniform. 



INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis always points out the sense of those luords 
which may he regard eel as expressive of certain thoughts, 
sentiments, or emotions. 

Whatever is the sense of any word, Emphasis will bring it 
out ; and will not only raise it into conspicuous importance, 
but contradistinguish it from the sense of other words, mark 
or direct the sense of an ellipsis, and point out grammatical 
relation. 

The occasions for the use of Emphasis are of constant occurrence ; and 
either of these circumstances will afford sufficient ground for its use. A 
perception of the grammatical construction of a sentence, of its special mean- 
ing, of the kind and amount of feeling it is intended to convey — in a word, 
a perception of the relation of thoughts in the author's mind — are the 
circumstances which must regulate the application of Emphasis. 

A nice and rigid analysis of the import of what is read or said is neces- 
sary, to employ Emphasis with correctness or pjvpriety. 

There are certain characteristics of vocal sounds which unerringly call the 
attention of an auditory. They are High Powers of Stress, in any of its 
specific modes; Extreme Length of Quantity; Wide Intervals of Pitch; and 
a Peculiar Quality of Voice, when set on words, may be considered as Elements 
of Emphasis. 

When the Ernphasi sis positive or absolute, 7ve use the Palling Inflection- 
When the Emphasis is relative, or dependent tipon something yet to follow, we 
■use the Rising Inflection. 



„^ DRILL BOOK. 

Examples. 

1. On! ON ! you noble English. 

2. Must I bid twice? Hence, varlets, FLY ! 

3. Slaves I TRAITORS ! have ye flown ? 

4. To arms ! to arms ! ye braves ! 

5. Be assured, be assured, that this declaration will stand. 

6. Rise, RISE, ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 

7. To arms ! to ARMS ! to ARMS ! they cry, 

8. Hence I home, you idle creatures ! get you HOME ! 

9. Hurrah for bright water ! HURRAH ! HURRAH ! 

10. I met\{\\r\., faced him, SCORNED him. 

11. Horse ! horse ! and CHASE ! 

12. We may ^/>y die COLONISTS ! die SLAVES! 

13. The charge is utterly, TOTALLY, MEANLY, false. 

14. Ay, cluster there ! Cling to your master, judges, ROMANS, SLAVES. 

15. I defy the \yQxvox^\& gentleman; I defy the government , I defy the 
WHOLE PHALANX. 

16. Strike till the last armed foe expires ! strike for yoiir altars and your 
fires ! STRIKE for the green graves of your sires ! 

17. He has allowed us to meet you here, and, in the name of the present 
generation, in the name of your COUNTRY, in the name of LIBERTY, to 
thank you. 

18. They shouted Fra^ice I Spain ! ALBION ! VICTORY ! 

We see that Emphasis and Inflection are intimately connected. We es- 
pecially urge the use of the falling inflection whenever the sense demands it, 
as the character, amount of knowledge, and even success of an individual may 
be understood or made a failure by its neglect. We submit the following 
rule for the application of Inflection : 

In all Loose, Complex, and Compound Sentences whatever, tJiose membersy 
clauses, and phrases which have the sense incomplete, or are dependejit on so?7ie- 
thing following, shotild have the 'RlSll<iG inflection; and all those which have 
the se7ise finished arid completed, or aj'e independeiit of ariy thing that follows ^ 
reqtiire the falling inflection. 

In this rule we have embraced the two great important particulars, W'hich 
are the grand governing principles in nearly all the rules regulating the in- 
flections of the voice, at the end of members and smaller sections of sentences. 
They are very comprehensive, and should, therefore, be well understood : and 
when once understood so as to be carried into practice, they will greatly aid 
the reader and speaker, in giving him a clear and extensive view of the sen- 
sitive relations of the different members, clauses, and phrases of sentences ; 
and also of the force and power of language. 

Examples in Inflection and Emphasis. 

1. I am^. 

2. Life is shorf^. 

3. Eternity is long^. 



INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. ^^ 

4. Are you prepared' ? 

5. ^iWyou' ^ 

6. If they returr^. 

7. Forgive us our sins^. 

8. Depart thoiC. 

9. Home^! home^! you i'^dle dolts^I Get you home^. 
You blocks\ you stones\ you worse^ than 
SenseHess things^ Home^ to your huts^! 

You grov^eling brutes^! 

What' though the field be lost' ? 
Air is not^ lost\ the uncon^querable wilP, 
And stud^y of revenge\ immortal hate\ 
And courtage nev^er to submit^ or yield^. 

II. And be thou instruc'ted, O Jeru^salem'. lest my soul' depart^ from 
thee , lest I make thee' des'olate, a land not' inhabited. 

If the members of a concludmg series are not emphatic, they all take the 
rising inflection except the last, which takes the falling inflection ; but if em- 
phatic, they all take the falling inflection except the last but one, which takes 
the rising inflection. 

Examples. 

1. The dew is dried up', the star is shot', the flight is past', the man forgot'. 

2. He tried each art', reproved each dull delay', allured to brighter worlds/ 
and led the way"". 

3. She winks', and giggles', and simpers', and simpers', and giggles', and 
winks\ 

4. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving', with festivity', with bonfires', 
with illuminations'. 

5. You bring with you marks of honor from Trenton and Monmouth', 
from Yorktown', Camden'. Bennington', and Saratoga'. 

6. He was so young', so intelligent', so generous', so brave', so every 
thing' that we are apt to like in a young man'. ^ 

7. My doctrine shall drop as the rain', my speech shall distill as the dew', 
as the small rain upon the tender herb' and as the showers upon the grass'. 

In direct address, the name of the person or thing addressed generally re- 
ceives the rising inflection. 



Examples. 

1. Bright angels', strike your loudest strings. 

2. Exult, then'. O sun" in the strength of thy youth. 

3. Salgar', it is Colma who calls ' Salgar'. my love" I am here. 

4. But hush, my sighs': fall not, ye drops of useless sorrow'! heart-break- 
ing anguish', choke not my utterance ! 

5. Awake, voice of sweet song" Awake, my heart', awake ! green vales 
and icv clifl's', all join my hvmn. ^ 

6. Wives', submit yourselves unto your own husbands. Husbands , love 
your wives. Children', obey your parents. 

7. I am not mad, most noble Festus'. but speak forth the words of truth 
and soberness. 



^ DRILL BOOK. 

When emphasis is applied, the names of persons or things addressed gener- 
ally take the falling inflection. 

If very emphatic, all the members may receive the falling inflection. 

Examples. 

1. Oh, horribleV Oh, horrible^ most horrible'! 

2. MyphiaP! Ha^! it thrills meM I revive'! 

3. Ha^! M'hat a life were this^! how sweet""! how lovely^! 

4. But hush''! hark""! a deep sound strikes like arising knel^! 

5. Mercy'! pityM help'! help me, my children'! defend me^! 

6. Help^! help^! ho'! help^! The Moor has killed my mistress^! Murder^! 
murder^! 

7. See there again'! my bed's on fire'! the flames are kindling round my 
head''! the smoke'! I'm strangling^! — cannot fly^! fire^! water""! help^! Oh, 
haste^, I die^! 

8. O heaven'"! methought, what pain it is to drown^! What dreadful noise 
of water in mine ears'! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes^! 

Further Examples. 

1. Are you going to the Rocky Mountains'? Yes"". 

2. Is Alonzo, the Spanish prisoner, confined in this dungeon' ? He is*". 

3. Soldier, hast thou a wife' ? I have^. 

4. What can alone ennoble fight'? A noble cause^. 

5. What sought they thus afar^? Bright jewels of the mine'? The wealth 
of seas', the spoils of war'? They sought a faith's pure shrine^. 

6. What would content you7 Talent'? No*". Enterprise'? No^. 
Courage'? No^. Reputation'? No^. Virtue'? No^. The men whom 
you would elect should possess not one, but all of these. 

7. Who is to judge concerning the /7r^?^^;?rj' of these demands^ The min- 
istry'. Who is to judge whether the money is properly expended'? The 
Cabinet behind the throne^. 

8. Are you ignorant of many things which it highly concerns you to 
know'? The gospel off^ers you instruction'". Have you deviated from the 
path of duty'? The gospel offers you forgiveness\ Do temptations surround 
you'? The gospel offers you the aid of heaven^. Are you exposed to 
misery' ? It consoles you'". Are you subject to death' ? It offers you im- 
mortality^. 

In Contrast and Antithesis, the inflections alternate for variety. 

1. Yes, he is a miracle of genius', because a miracle of labor^. 

2. Respectability and character abroad', security and confidence at home*". 

3. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment', and Pope with perpetual 
delight'. 

4. Which some suppose inferior, — as the sable' is to ermine'; as smut', 
to flour'; as coal', to alabaster'; as crows', to swans'; as soot', to driven 
snow"^. 

5. They poor', I rich''; they beg', I give'; they lack', I lend'; they pine', I 
live'. 

6. And it shall be, as with the people', so with the priest^; as Avith the ser- 
vant', so with the master'; as with the maid', so with her mistress"*; as with 
the buyer', so with the seller'; as with the lendei"', so with the borrower'; as 
with the taker' of usury, so with the giver' of usury to him. 



INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. ^ 

/6 

7. God hath a presence in the fold of the flowei-', the leaf of the tree\ in 
the sun of noonday', the star of the night^; in the storm-cloud of darkness', 
the rainbow of light^; in the waves of the ocean', the furrows of land"; in the 
mountain of granite', the atom of sand\ 

8. The tastes of men do diifer very considerably. One may relish poetry 
mosf ; another takes pleasure in nothing but hisHory\ One prefers com'edy' ; 
another, trag^edy\ One admires the sim'ple' , another the ornamental style\ 
The young are amused with gay and sprightly composi' Hans' ; the elderly are 
more entertained with those of a grav^er cast^. Some nations delight in bold 
pictures oi manners! , and strong representations oi pas!sion^; others incline 
to more correct and regular elegance, both in discrip'tion' and senti^ent\ 
Though air dif'fe/, yet all' pitch upon some one beauty which peculiarly 
suits their turn of mina\- and, therefore', no one' has a right' to condemn' 
the rest'. 

The parenthetical clauses will take the same inflection at the close, that 
marks the word preceding the parentheses. 

1. After dinner, he retired (as was his custom') to his bed-chamber, whei-e 
(it is reco7'dcd') he slept quietly, for about a quarter of an hour. 

2. May the like serenity (in such dreadful circumstances'), and a death 
equally glorious, be the lot of all whom tyranny (of whatever denomination 
or dcscriptioji') shall (in any age or in any country) call to expatiate their vir- 
tues on the scaffold. 

3. Then went the captain with the ofiicers, and brought the apostles with- 
out vi'olence'; (for they feared the people, lest they should have been j-Zc'/ztfc/V) 
and when they had brought them, they set them before the coun'cir. 

The following is an example of variety in emphasis : 

Are they He'brews ? So am P. Are' they Ls'raelites ? So am I\ Are' 
they the seed of A'braham ? So am T. Are' they the ministers of Christ'? 
I am more\ 

THE DOWNWARD OCTAVE Qlvc thc negative '' A^o" with same cadence 

Well' done'! " i7ii'2^//-//(?," with same cadence. 

% B 1 "Sir, I thank the government for this measure." 

(Same cadence on " thank.") " I insist on this 
point : I urge it ; nay, I demand it." (Same on 
" insist" " urge" and '^deviand.") 
By the Emphatic Tie, we mean the application of emphasis to words which 
do not otherwise require distinction, merely for the purpose of associating 
those ideas, or separated parts of a sentence, which can not, by any other 
mode of vocal syntax, be brought together ; of can not be exhibited in their 
natural grammatical dependence. The process of this function may be easily 
understood ; for regulated words, however disjointed in composition, are at 
once brought within the field of hearing, in their relationship, whenever they 
are raised into attractive importance by any form of emphatic distinction. 
Good reading or speaking consists in the continual variety of light and shade, 
produced by the proper adjustment of these functions. 



i 



M. . DRILL BOOK. 



THE EMPHATIC TIE. 

Distant wo7'ds, having a sensific relation to each other, will 
have this relation exhibited very clearly by giving them some 
form of emphasis, thereby elevating them, and joining or tieing 
them (as it were) together, in a sense-making manner. 

About her middle round, 
A cry of HELL-HOUNDS, never-ceasing, BARKED, 
With wide. Cerberian months., full lotid, and RUNG 
A hideous peal 

The main current of thought in this passage, is interrupted by slurring the 
two expletives nitervennig between the emphatic words. The different parts 
of the main current, which are separated by the cross-currents, must be con- 
nected by the use of the Emphatic Tie. which should be placed on the words 
" hell-hounds," " barked," and " rung." The main current of this passage 
consists of the following 

About her middle round, 
A cry of hell-hounds barked and rung a hideous peal. 

The cross-currents are ; 

never ceasing With wide. Cerberian mouths, full loud 

When CHEERFULNESS, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskms gemm d with morning dew, 

Blew an INSPIRING AIR, that dale and thicket rung. 
The HUNTER S CALL, to Fawn and Dryad known. 

The words " inspiring air" and " hunter's call" are in apposition ; but 
their intervening matter might make " rung'' pass for a transitive, instead of 
an intransitive verb, and thereby render '' caW the object to it. To show, 
therefore, that by '' hunter s calf the author means the same as by " inspiring 
airj' previously mentioned, these words should receive strong emphasis, and 
the intervening clause slurred. This is the best mode for restoring to the ear 
that natural order which is inverted in the sentence. Perspicuity may also 
be aided a little, by emphasizing " cheerfulness,'' and slightly slurring what 
follows it unto the end of the third line. 

But the Jews did not BELIEVE, concerning him, that he had been blind 
and received his sight, until they called the PARENTS of him that had re- 
ceived his sight. 

And they CAST him OUT. Jesus HEARD that they had cast him out; 
and when he had found him, he said unto him, DosT thou BELIEVE on 



THE WAVE OF THE CIRCUxVIFLEX. ^_ 

the SON of God ? He answered, and said, who is he, Lord, that I might 
believe on him ? 

And SEND'ST HIM> shiveritig in thy play f til spray. 

And howling to his gods, WHERE happy LIES 
His petty hope in some near port or bay. 

And then he beheld, enjoying a sweet and tranquil SLUMBER, the man, 
WHO, by the doom of himself and his fellows, was to DIE within the short 

SPACE of two hours. 

HIS FRIEND, who was apprised of the state he was in, and who naturally 
concluded he was ill, OFFERED him some wine. 

It is obvious that the audible fneans for displaying the sense of discourse is 
greatly contributive to the analysis necessary to present a clear picture of 
thought in delivery, and can not fail to reveal the latent beauties, as well as 
defects, of composition. 

The Ai't of Rhetoric can not but be greatly assisted by that of Elocution, 
since a careful consideration of the nice sensific relations of words in Wfitten 
language is constantly necessary in the art of RJietoi'ic. 



THE WAVE OF THE CIRCUMFLEX. 

The Circumflex is a union of the inflections, and is of two 
kinds : Rising and Falling, 

It is governed by the same principle as inflections ; that is, positive as- 
sertions of irony, raillery, etc., will have the Falling circumflex; and all neg- 
ative assertions of doubled meaning will have the Rising. 

Doubt, pity, contrast, grief, supposition, cojnparison, irony, implication, sneer- 
ing, raillery, scorn, reproach, and contonpt, are expressed by them. Be sure 
and get the right feeling and thought, and you will find no difficulty in expres- 
sing them properly, if you have mastered the voice. 

Both these circumflex inflections may be exemplified in the word " so" in a 
speech of the Clown, in Shakespeare's "■ As You Like It :" 

I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel ; but when the 
parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If ; as if you said 
so, then I said so. Oh, ho ! did you say s'o ? So they shook hands, and 
were sworn friends. 

The Queen of Denmark, in reproving her son, Hamlet, on account of his 
conduct towards his step-father, whom she married shortly after the murder of 
the king, her husband, says to him, " Hamlet, you have your father much 



^r DRILL BOOK. 

offended." To which he repHes, with a circumflex on yon, "Madam, you 
have my father much offended." He meant his o%un father ; she, his step- 
father. He would also intimate that she was accessory to his father's imirder; 
and his peculiar reply was like daggers in her soul. 

In the following reply of Death to Satan, there is a frequent occurrence of 
circumflexes, mingled with contempt: "And reckon'st thou thyself \y\\.\\ spirits 
of heaven, hell-doomed, and breath'st defiance here, and scorn, where /reign 
king? — and, to enrage thee more, th'y king and lord T The voice is cifcum- 
flexed on heaven, hell-doomed, king, and thy, nearly an octave. 

Zounds ! show me what thou'lt do : woul't fast ? woul't tear thyself ? I'll 
do it. Dost thou come here to whine? to outface 7?ie, "with leaping in her 
grave? Be buried qtdck \Ni\h. her, and so v/ill /"y and if thou prate of 
moun'^ fains, let them throw mil'lions. of acres on us, till our ground, singe- 
ing her pate against the burning zone, makes Ossa like a zuaj't. Nay, and 
thoul't mouth, / // rant as well as thou. 

For the purpose of securing flexibility of voice in this complex movement, 
and for the executions of Inflections and Transition, an exercise may be given 
on the direct and inverted waves, — single and double. If the direction of the 
first part of the wave is upward, it is called direct ; if downward, indirect. 

Practice on the " Speech of the Clown" until the utterance becomes natu- 
ral. Then this sentence, " Did you say hail' ? Yes, I said hail\" The inter- 
val will be third, fifth, or octave, according to earnestness. 

We can not leave the subject of the Inflections, Slides, and Waves of the 
voice without noticing a fev/ of the faults to be avoided. 

The principal faults in the intonation of the cadence may be enumerated 
as follows : 

First, its total omission : for repose of the cadence, at the termination of a 
conspicuous train of thoughts, is in the highest degree grateful to the ear, and 
should, therefore, never be omitted. 

Second, a descent of the voice below the current melody to that extent which 
renders the last constituent of the cadence inaudible. 

Care should be taken that, in lowering the voice to form the cadence, its 
force maybe kept sufficiently ttp, to render the close of the zo.n'i&xvQ.^ perfectly 
audible. If the general pitch of the voice be so regulated as not to fall too low 
in effecting the close, there will be no difficulty in making it sufficiently loud 
and forcible. 

Third, a I'epetition of the same form of cadence at every pazise greater than 
that indicated by a comma. This monotony of the cadence may be avoided by 
the use of the suspension, or be changed to some other form of the cadence. 

Fourth, a want of variety, in not using a sufficient number of the diffe^'ent 
forms. 

There is an ample source for variety in the forms of the cadence, suited to 
all kinds of sentiment, and all forms of puantity, in the terminating syllables 
of sentences. 



PERSONATION. ,^^ 

Careful study, combined with suitaule practice, can not fail to correct all 
these defects above enumerated. 

In the personation, in the following, an opportunity is given for the waves, 
direct and indirect : 

A Fool ! a Fool ! I met a Fool i' th' forest — 

A motley Fool. A miserable world ! 

As I do live by food, I met a Fool, 

Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 

And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms. 

In good set terms, — and yet a motley Fool. 
" Good morrow. Fool," quoth I. " No, sir," quoth he, 
" Call me not Fool, till heav'n hath sent me fortune :" 

And then he drew a dial from his poke, 

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 

Says, very wisely, " It is ten o'clock : 

Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags 

'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine ; 

And after one hour more, 't will be eleven ; 

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; 

And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear 

The motley Fool thus moral on the time, 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 

That fools should be so deep-contemplative ; 

And I did laugh, sans intermission. 

An hour by his dial ! — O noble Fool ! 

A worthy Fool ' Motley's the only wear. 



PERSONATION. 

We should give especial attention to the change of voice in Personation. 
In public reading and declamation, it is of great importance ; but is generally 
overlooked, or but little practiced. 

The narrative or descriptive sentences leading to the Personation, will de- 
pend for Force, Pitch, and Tiine, upon the character of the ideas in the Per- 
sonation. For instance, if a death scene is being given, as in "Poor Little 
J im," the Pitch will be low, and diminish until the words uttered by the 
dying boy are reached. Then, with Pure Voice, slightly Tremor, Pitch mode- 
rate, and Time slow, with a pause between the narrative and the quoted 
words, the speaker will say : 

" Tell father, when he comes from work. I said good-night to him ; and 
mother — now-I'll-go-to-sleep." 
i 
The last words ver}' soft, and hesitating utterance. 

Before this example, is another in the same selection, not quite so marked > 



o DRILL BOOK. 

which we give, from the third verse. She gets her answer from the child ; 
softly fall the words from him — 

" Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim ! 
I have no pain, dear mother, now, — but oh, I am so dry ! 
Just moisten poor Jim's lips again — and, mother, don't you cry." 
With gentle, trembling haste, she held the liquid to his lips. 

That which is quoted is supposed to be uttered by the dying child, and can 
not be given effectively without the changes in voice, etc., referred to above. 

If the climax of the narrative is a battle scene, and the Personation repre- 
sents an officer giving the command to charge, as in " The Light Brigade," 
then the most marked change will be made in the voice, between the descrip- 
tive and the Personation. 

" Forward the light brigade ! take the guns !" demands Full Force, Quick 
Time, High Pitch, Compomtd Stress ; and the descriptive preceding it will 
commence with Moderate Pitch, Moderate Tijiie (increasing), and Medium 
Force, with Median Stress. 

We give a number of 

EXAMPLES 
for the practice of the transitions necessary in Personations, 



{per') " Stand to your guns, men !" Morris cried. 

Small need to pass the word ; 
{desc.) Our men at quarters ranged themselves 

Before the drum was heard. 

The Pitch should fall three notes, at least, on the words " Morris cried," 
and raised but slightly on the remainder of the stanza. 



{desc) And when Peter saw it, he answered unto the people: {per) "Ye 
men of Israel, why marvel ye at this ? or why look ye so earnestly on us, as 
though by our own power or holiness, we had made this man to walk?" etc. 

To read the Bible acceptably in pubhc, requires the application of every 
principle in elocution ; for no where is Expression so richly rewarded, as in 
the pronunciation of the sacred text. The descriptive and Personation 
should be so distinctly marked, that the attention will be at once attracted to 
the different styles, and the meaning understood. 



Shout, Tyranny, shout 
Through your dungeons and palaces, " Freedom is o'er !' 



EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS AND EMOTIONS. ^ 



Princes ! potentates ! 
"Warriors I the flower of heaven — once yours, now lost ! — 
If such astonishment as this can seize 
Eternal spirits — 
Awake ! arise ! or be forever fallen ! 

5. 

These abominable principles, and this more abominable avowel of them' 
demand the most derisive indignation. I call upon that right reverend and 
this most learned Bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to defend and 
support the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops to interpose the 
unsullied sanctity of their lawn, upon the judges to interpose the purity of 
their ermine, to save us from this polution. 



EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS AND EMOTIONS- 
OBJECT OF THE STUDY OF ELOCUTION. 

Language is the foundation of a seiitiment or emotion. 

As it is impossible to print a tear, a groan, a sneer, a laugh, 
or a look, so it is impossible to express all the meaning of an 
author, unless in the spirit of the sentiment, and, from long 
practice, one is able to express that sentiment. The mere 
repetition of the words of Shakespeare, would give little idea of 
the full meaning and power of those words. In this view, man- 
ner is quite as important as matter; for without it, the choic- 
est ideas, as represented by words, are lifeless. The study of 
Expression is the most important part of Elocution, as it is the 
appropriate and harmonious application of all the principles 
that form the science of utterance. It is the Art of Elocution. 

In extemporaneous discourse, emotions may suggest language, and language 
may suggest emotion. The emotions excited by language, arise from the 
clear, strong, and suitable exhibition of the relation of the ideas expressed in 
language. These relations are always exhibited or expressed by the use of the 
Elements of Vocal Expression — Quality, Pitch, Force, Stress, Emphasis. 
Inflection, Pause, and Personation. Practice upon these combinations gives 
confidence in their use in reading and speaking, and educates the Taste and 
yndgment. The ear is disciplined to notice exaggerations and affectations, 
and to avoid them — as the skillful musician notices and avoids discords. 



8o 



DRILL BOOK. 



Desiring to make this compilation a complete and thorough Drill 
Book and Guide, we enumerate the different elements of expression, neces- 
sary to the intonation of most of i\\Q feelings and emotions, with examples for 
practice. 

We would not be understood as claiming that there is an element of vo- 
cal expression peculiarly adapted to every different sentiment or emotion. 
The same vocal element is frequently used to express very different senti- 
ments and emotions. But by the management of these elements, in continu- 
ous and careful practice, all the varieties may be expressed, as the most com- 
plicate harmonies in music are produced by the notes of the scale, by the skill- 
ful musician. 

We begin with 

DIGNITY, GRAVITY, AND SOLEMNITY. 

These, and kindred expressions, as Adoration, Reverence, Venera- 
tion, and Awe, are expressed by Orotund Quality, Long Quantity, Slo-oj 
Time, and Median Stress.. 



Yet a few days, and thee, 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more, 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix forever with the elements. 
To be a brother to the insensible rock, 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. 

Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings. 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, — 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun — the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between — 
The venerable woods — rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 
That make the meadows green — and, poured round all. 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste — 
Are but the solemn decollations all. 
Of the great tomb of man. 



These, as they change, Almighty Father ! these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of thee. 



EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS AND EMOTIONS. o 

And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve. 
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales. 
In winter, awful thou ! with clouds and storms 
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled — 
Majestic darkness ! On the whirlwind's wing. 
Riding sublime, thou bidd'st the world adore. 
And humblest Nature, with thy northern blast. 

3. 
These are thy glorious works. Parent of Good ! 
Almighty ! Thine this universal frame, 
Thus wondrous fair I — thyself how wondrous, then ! 
Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these heavens. 
To us invisible, or dimly seen 
Midst these, thy lowest works ! 
Yet these declare thy goodness beyond thought, 
And power divine ! 

CHEERFULNESS, LIVELINESS, GAIETY, EARNEST 
DESCRIPTION, 
And similar feelings, require the Natural or Pure Voice, Short Quantity 
Quick Time, Radical, and Vanishing Stress. 



Hear the sledges with the bells — silver bells ! 

What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! 

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, in the icy air of night ! 

While the stars that oversprinkle all the heavens, seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight — 
Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, — 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 



Hear the mellow wedding-bells — golden bells ! 

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 

Through the balmy air of night, how they ring out their delight ! 

From the molten-golden notes, all in tune, 

What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 

On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding cells. 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 

How it swells, how it dwells 
On the Future ! How it tells of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing of the bells, bells, bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells — 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells. 

3. 
But, oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone, 



82 



DRILL BOOK. 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 
The hunter's call, to Fawn and Dryad known ! 

The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed queen, 
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green : 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, ^ 

And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen spear. 

4. 

O bright, beautiful, health-inspiring, heart-gladdening water ! Every 
where around us dwelleth thy meek presence — twin-angel sister of all that 
is good and precious here ; in the wild forest, on the grassy plain, slumber- 
ing in the bosom of the lonely mountain, sailing with viewless wings 
through the humid air, floating over us in curtains of more than regal splen- 
dor — home of the healing angel, when his wings bend to the woes of this 
fallen world — 

Oh, water, pure water, bright water for me, 
And wine for the trembling debauchee ! 

MIRTH, WIT, PLEASANTRY, JOY, RAPTURE, DELIGHT, 
SPRIGHTLINESS, AND GOOD HUMOR, 

Require for their expression. Short Quantity^ Quick Time, Rising Injlections, 
Radical, atid Median Stress, with occasional use of the Tremor Voice. 



But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair ! 
What was thy delighted measure? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scene at distance hail. 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale. 

She called on Echo still, through all her song ; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close : 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 



Oh, then, I see. Queen Mab hath been with you ; 

She comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate stone 
On the forefinger of an alderman, 
Drawn by a team of little atomies 
Over men's noses, as they lie asleep ; 
Her wagon-spokes, made of long spinner's legs ; 
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams ; 
Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; 
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat. 



EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS AND EMOTIONS. 

Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, — 
Time out of mind, the fairies' coachmakers. 
And in this state, she gallops, night by night. 
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit ; 
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
Tickhng a parson's nose as he lies asleep ; 
Then dreams he of another benefice. 
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. 
Of healths five fathoms deep ; and then anon, 
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes. 
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, 
And sleeps again. 



(This selection may be made a LaugJiing Exercise,) 

I wrote some lines, once on a time. 

In wondrous merry mood ; 
And thought, as usual, men would say 

They were exceeding good. 

They were so queer, so very queer, 

I laughed as I would die; — 
Albeit, in the general way, 

A sober man am I. 

I called my sers'ant, and he came; — 

How kind it was of him, 
To mind a slender man like me, 

He of the mighty limb ! 

" These to the printer I" I exclaimed ; 
And, in my humorous way, 
I added (as a trifling jest), 
•* There'll be the devil to pay !" 

He took the paper, and I watched. 

And saw him peep within ; 
At the first line he read, his face 

Was all upon a grin. 

He read the next ; the grin grew broad, 

And shot from ear to ea.r. 
He read the third ; a chuckling noise 

I now began to hear. 

The fourth, he broke into a roar ; 

The fifth, his waistband split ; 
The sixth, he burst five buttons off. 

And tumbled in a fit. 



83 



84 



DRILL BOOK. 

Ten d^ys and nights, with sleepless eye, 

I watched that wretched man ; 
And since, I never dare to write 

As funny as I can. 

ASTONISHMENT AND SURPRISE, 

With Amazement, Exclamation, Admiration, or Wonder, require Long 
Quantity, Varied Force, Radical and Median Stress, Downward and Up- 
ward Inflection, thirds, fourths, fifths, or octaves, according to excitement ; 
with Equal, Direct, and Inverted Waves ; Orotund Quality, and Guttural at 
times. 



Whence and what art thou, execrable shape ! 
That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
To yonder gates ? Through them, I mean to pass — 
That be assured — without leave asked of thee ! 
Retire, or taste thy folly ; and learn by proof, 
Hell-born! not to contend with spirits of heaven! 



Back to thy punishment. 
False fugitive .' and to thy speed add wings ; 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 
Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before. 



I should be surprised indeed, if, while you are doing us wrong, you did not 
profess your solicitude to do us justice. From the day on which Strongbow 
set his foot upon the shore of Ireland, Englishmen were never wanting in 
protestations of their deep anxiety to do us justice ; — even Strafford, the de- 
serter of the people's cause — the renegade Wentworth, who gave evidence in 
Ireland of the spirit of instinctive tyranny which predominated in his charac- 
ter — even Strafford, while he trampled i:pon our rights, and trod upon the 
heart of the covmtry, protested his solicitude to do justice to Ireland ' What 
marvel is it, then, that gentlemen opposite should deal in such vehement pro- 
testations? 



Tell me — for you were there — I appeal to the gallant soldier before me, 
from whose opinions I differ, but \vho bears, I know, a generous heart in an 
intrepid breast ; — tell me, for you must needs remember, on that day when 
the destinies of mankind were trembling in the balance, while death fell in 
showers, when the artillery of France was leveled with the precision of the 
most deadly science, when her legions, incited by the voice and inspired by 
the example of their mighty leader, rushed again and again to the onset, — 
tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be lost, the 
" aliens" blenched? 



EXPRESSION OF THE P ASSIGNS AND EMOTIONS. o- 

5» 

ALIENS: GoodGcd! Was Arthur, Duke of Wellington, in the House of 
Lords, and did he not start up and exclaim, " Hold ! I have seen the Aliens 
do their dufy /" 

POSITIVENESS, CERTAINTY, AND CONFIDENCE, 

With Conviction, Authority, Command, Defiance, Denunciation, 
Reprehension, Affirmation, Instruction, Precept, and Warm Argu- 
mentation, as well as Denying, Reproving, Refusing, and Forbidding, 
require for their effective intonation, two or more of the following elements : 
Marked Downward Inflection ; Radical, Median, or Vanishing Stress ; Oro- 
tund, and sometimes the harsh Gtittural Quality ; and Direct Equal Waves. 



Come one — come all ! This rock shall fly 
From its firm base, as soon as I ! 



These few precepts in thy memory 
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel. 



But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : 
" My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
Be open, at my sovereign's will, 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my king's alone. 
From turret to foundation stone ; — 
The hand of Douglas is his own, 
And never shall in friendly grasp, 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp !" 
Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire ; 

And "This to me !" he said, — 
' And 'twere not for thy hoary beard. 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And first I tell thee, haughty peer. 
He who does England's message here. 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate I 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

E'en in thy pitch of pride : 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near — 
(Nay, never look upon your lord, 



86 



DRILL BOOK. 

And lay your hands upon your sword,) 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied ' 
And if thou said'st I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here — 
Lo\>land or Highland, far or near — 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied '" 
On the earl's cheek, the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age ; 
Fierce he broke forth : '" And darest thou, then. 
To beard the lion in his den — 

The Douglas in his hall ? {^'^g^) 

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no !" 



Banished from Rome ! What's banished, but set free 
From daily contact with the things I loathe ? 
" Tried and convicted traitor '" Who says this ? 
' Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 

Banished ! I thank you for't ! It breaks my chain I 
I held some slack allegiance till this hour — 
But now, my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ! 
I scorn to count what feelings, whithered hopes. 
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
I have within my heart's hot cells slant up, 
To leave you in your lazy dignities ! 
But here I stand and scoff you ! here I fling 
Hatred and full defiance in your face ' 
Your Consul's merciful — for this, all thanks : 
He dares not touch a hair of Cataline ! 

"Traitor!" I go — but I return. This — trial? 

Here I devote your senate ! I've had wrongs 

To stir a fever in the blood of age, 

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel ! 

This day's the birth of sorrow ! This hour's work 

Will breed proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my lords ! 

For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods. 

Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes ! — 

Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 

Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 

Naked rebellion, with the torch and axe, 

Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 

Till anarchy comes down on you like night, 

And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! 

5. 

EARNEST APPEAL. 

O comrades ! warriors ! Thracians ! If we vt7ist fight, let us fight for our- 
selves ! If we inttst slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors ! If we must 
die, let us die under a free sky, by the bright waters, in NOBLE, HONORABLE 

BATTLE ! 



EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS AND EMOTIONS. 



87 



ANGER, RAGE, REVENGE, WRATH, MALICE, AND HATE, 

Are expressed by Short Qtiantity on emphatic words, Quick Time, Soundness, 
Orotund, Guttural, and Aspirate Qualities, with Downward Inflections, and 
Direct and Indirect Waves. 

I. 

ANGER. 

(The greatest force should be given to the words ^' Anger ^' " clash, ^' " swept^^ etc.) 
Next, Anger rushed ; his eyes on fire, in lightnings owned his secret stings ; 

with one rude clash he struck the lyre, and swept, with hurried hands, the 

strings. 



And longer had she sung — but, with a frown. Revenge impatient rose ; he 
threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, and, with a withering look, 
the war-denouncing trumpet took, and blew a blast so loud and dread, were 
ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woes. 



Strike, till the last armed foe expires ! strike, for your altars and your fires ' 
strike, for the green graves of your sires — God and your native land ! 

4- 

COURAGE. 

Up, comrades ! up ! — in Rokeby's halls, 
Ne'er be it said our courage falls ! 

5. 

INFURIATE ANGER. 

Thou den of drunkai-ds with the blood of princes ! Gehenna of the waters ! 
Thou sea Sodom ! Thus I devote thee to the mfernal gods — thee and thy 
serpent seed ! \^To the executioner^ Slave, do thine office ! Strike, as I 
struck the foe ! Strike, as I would have struck those tyrants ! Strike, deep 
as my curse ! Strike — and but once ! 

6. 

THE OATH. 

By the tombs of your sires and brothers, the hosts which the traitors have 
slain — by the tears of your sisters and mothers, in secret concealing their pain 
— the grief which the heroine smothers, consuming the heart and the brain — by 
the sigh of the penniless widow, by the sob of the orphans' despair, where they sit 
in their sorrowful shadow — kneel, kneel, every freeman, and swear ! Swear ! 
\Orotund and guttural?\ And hark, the deep voices replying from the graves 
where your fathers are lying : " Swear, oh, swear P' 



DRILL BOOK. 



Blaze with your serried columns ! I will not bend the knee ! The 
shackles ne'er again shall bind the arm which now is free ! I've mailed it 
with the thunder, when the tempest muttered low ; and where it falls, ye 
well may dread the lightning of its blow ! 

I loathe ye in my bosom, I scorn ye with my eye ; and I'll taunt ye with 
my latest breath, and fight ye till I die ! I ne'er will ask ye quarter, and I 
ne'er will be your slave ; but I'll swim the sea of slaughter, till I sink be- 
neath the wave ! 

JEALOUSY, ENVY, INDIGNATION, AVERSION, SCORN, AND 
ABHORRENCE, 

Require less energy in their intonation than the preceding, more deliber- 
ation. The elements of the preceding should be moderated by Longer 
Quantity, Median Stress, and the Wave. 



JEALOUSY. 

Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fixed ; sad proof of thy distressful 
state ! Of diftering themes the veering song was mixed ; and now it courted 
Love ; now, raving, called on Hate. 



I've scared ye in the city, I've scalped ye on the plain ; go, count your 
chosen, where they fell beneath my leaden rain ! I scorn your proffered 
treaty ! the pale-face I defy ! revenge is stamped upon my spear, and blood 
my battle-cry ! 

3- 

ANGER AND SCORN. 

You common cry of curs, whose breath I hate as reek o' the rotten fens ! — 
whose loves I prize as the dead carcasses of unburied men, that do corrupt 
my air ! — / banish you ! 

4. 

ENVY, 

Aside the devil turned for envy ; yet, with jealous leer malign, eyed them 
askance, and to himself thus plain'd : Sight hateful ! sight tormenting ! thus 
these two, imparadised in one another's arms, the happier Eden, shall en- 
joy their fill of bliss on bliss ; while I to hell am thrust, where neither joy 
nor love, but fierce desire — among our other torments not the least — still 
unfulfilled, with pain of longing, pines. 

5- 
Sir, who was he that disarmed the Thunderer ; wrested from his grasp 
the bolts of Jove ; calmed the troubled ocean ; became the central sun of 
the philosophical system of his age, shedding his brightness and effulgence 
on the whole civilized world ; whom the great and mighty of the earth de- 
light?ed to honor ; who participated in the achievement of your independence. 



EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS AND EMOTIONS. O^ 

prominently assisted in moulding your free institutions, and the beneficial 
effects of whose wisdom will be felt to the last moment of recorded time ? 
Who, sir, I ask, was he? A Northern laborer — a Yankee tallow-chandler's 
son — a printer's runaway boy ! 

6. 

JEALOUSY. 

If I do prove her haggard, though that her jesses were my dear heart- 
strings, I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, to prey at fortune. 
Haply, for I am black, and have not those soft parts of conversation that 
chamberers have; or, for I am declined into the vale of years ; — yet, that's 
not much : — she's gone. I am abused ; and my relief must be to loathe her. 
Oh, curse of marriage ! that we can call these delicate creatures ours, and 
not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a 
dungeon, than keep a corner in the thing I love for others' uses ! 

PLAINTIVENESS AND DEEP PATHOS 

Are expressed with prevailing softness of voice, by the semitone. Long 
Quantity, Slozv Ti?ne, the Semitonic Waves, and Aledian Stress. Among 
the sentiments which require the Plaintive Expression are the following ; 
Complaint, Penitence, Contrition, Petition, Submission, Supplication, Awe, 
Reverence, Affection, Love, Attention, Pity, Compassion, Commiseration, 
Grief, Mercy, Sorrow, Lamentation, Bodily Pain, and Mental Suffering. 



The king stood still till the last echo died ; then, throwing off the sack- 
cloth from his brow, and laying back the pall from the still features of his 
child, he bowed his head upon him, and broke forth in the resistless elo- 
quence of woe : — 

" Alas ' my noble boy ! thac thou should'st die ! Thou, who wert made 
so beautifully fair ! that death should settle in thy glorious eye, and leave his 
stillness in thy clustering hair ! How could he mark thee for the silent 
tomb, my proud boy, Absalom ! 

" Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am chill, as to my bosom I have tried 
to press thee ! How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, like a rich harp- 
string, yearning to caress thee, and hear thy sweet ' My father T from those 
dumb and cold lips, Absalom ' 

" But death is on thee ! I shall hear the gush of music, and the voices of 
the young ; and life will pass me in the mantling blush, and the dark tresses 
to the soft winds flung ; — but thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come 
to meet me, Absalom '" 



"Ho! sailor of the sea! How's my boy, my boy?" "^N^'hat's your boy's 
name, good wife ? And in what good ship sailed he ?" 

" My boy John — -he that went to sea ! What care I for the ship, sailor? 
My boy's my boy to me ! 

" You come back from sea, and not know my John ? I might as well 
have asked some landsman, yonder, down in the town ! There's not an ass 
in all the parish, but he knows my John ! 

"How's my boy, my boy? And unless you let me know, I'll swear you 



DRILI, BOOK. 

are no sailor, — blue jacket or no ! Brass button or no, sailor, — anchor or 
crown or no ! Sure, his ship was the Jolly BjHou." — " Speak low, woman ? 
speak low !" 

" And why should I speak low, sailor, about my own boy John ? If I was 
loud as I am proud, I'd sing him over the town ! Why should I speak low, 
sailor?" — " That good ship went down." 

3. 

Lovely art thou, O Peace ! and lovely are thy children ; and lovely are the 
prints of thy footsteps in the green valleys ! 

Blue wreaths of smoke ascend through the trees, and betray the half- 
hidden cottage ; the eye contemplates well-thatched ricks, and barns burst- 
ing with plenty : the peasant laughs at the approach of winter. 

White houses peep through the trees ; cattle stand cooling in the pool ; the 
casement of the farm-house is covered with jessamine and honey-suckle ; the 
stately green-house exhales the perfume of summer climates ! 

Children chmb the green mound of the rampart ; and ivy holds together 
the half-demolished buttress. 

4. 

" And now depart ! and when thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, 
lift up thy prayer beseechingly to him, who, from the tribes of men, selected 
thee to feel his chastening rod ! Depart, O leper ! and forget not God !" 

And he went forth — alone ! Not one of all the many whom he loved — 
nor she whose name was woven in the fibres of the heart breaking within 
him now — to come and speak comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way, — 
sick and heart-broken, and alone — to die ! For God had cursed the leper ! 

5. 
The flames rolled on. He would not go, without his father's word. 
That father, faint in death below, his voice no longer heard. He called 
aloud : " Say, father, say if yet my task is done !" He knew not that the 
chieftain lay, unconscious of his son. " Speak, father!" once again he cried, 
" if I may yet be gone !" And but the booming shots replied, and fast the 
flames rolled on. 

HUMOR, IMPATIENCE, AND DISCONTENT, 

With Petulance, Peevishness, Repining, Vexation, Chagrin, and 
Dissatisfaction, are expressed by the Radical, Vanishing, Compound, or 
Guttural Stress, the Semitonic Aspiration, and, at times, the Diatonic Mel- 
ody. On syllables of Long Quantity, the Dotcble and Unequal Wave will 
heighten the effect of the expression. 

Impatience will sometimes raise the voice to Loudness, and the Falsette 
may be heard in the whine of Peevishness. 

SECRECY 

Requires for its expression that Pure Aspiration called the Whisper. 

APPREHENSION AND MYSTERY, 

With Curiosity, Suspicion, and Eagerness, require Aspiration a"d a Sup- 
pressed Voice. 



EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS AND EMOTIONS. „ j 

SUPPRESSED FEAR 
Calls for an Undertone, and combines with it the Tremor or Aspiration, 

DANGER, FEAR, AND TERROR, 

Call for great Force of Voice, Loud Concrete, with the Downward Concretes, 
and marked with Aspiration. The voice of Terror sometimes breaks forth 
in a Scream of the Falsette or the Orotund. 

HORROR 

Requires Orotund, great Loudness, Guttural Grating, and Aspiration, which 
are always the symbols of the strongest emotions of the mind. 

These qualities of voice will be blended on some words, and applied singly 
on others. 

I. 

Now o'er the one-half world 
Nature seems dead , and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtain'd sleep ; novv witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's off'rings ; and wither'd murder, 
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl's his watch, — thus, with his stealthy pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
Moves like a ghost. — Thou sure and firm-set earth ! 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk ; for fear 
The veiy stones prate of my whereabout, 
And take the present horror from the time 
Which now suits with it. 

2. 

AWE, EXTENDING TO FEAR. 

It thunders ! Sons of dust, in reverence bow ! 

Ancient of days ! thou speakest from above ! 
Thy right hand wields the bolt of terror now — 

That hand which scatters peace and joy and love. 
Almighty ! trembling, like a timid child, 

I hear thy awful voice ! — alarmed, afraid, 
I see the flashes of thy lightning wild. 

And in the very grave would hide my head ! 

3- 

TERROR. 

The fox fled in terror : the eagle awoke. 
As, slumbering, he dozed in the shelve of the rock ; 
Astonished, to hide in the moonbeam he flew. 
And screwed the night-heaven, till lost in the blue. 

4. 
What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 



92 



DRILL BOOK. 



Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, — 
Making night hideous, and we fools of nature, 
So horridly to shake our disposition, 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 



Hear the loud alarum bells — brazen bells ! 

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 

In the startled ear of night, how they scream out their affright 

Too much horrified to speak, they can only shriek, shriek, 

Out of tune. 
In the clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire. 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire — 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, with a desperate desire. 
And a resolute endeavor, now, now to sit, or never, 

By the side of the pale-faced moon ' 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! what a tale their terror tells 

Of despair ! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! what a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 

6. 

Is this a dagger which I see before me, 

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee: — 

I have thee not ! — and yet I see thee still ! 

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 

To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but 

A dagger of the mind — a false creation, 

Proceeding from the heat -oppressed brain ? 

I see thee yet, in form as palpable 

As this which now I draw ! 

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going ! 

And such an instrument I was to use ! 

Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses, 

Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still ' 

And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood ! 

THE INTERROGATION 

May modify some of the elements of expression, in the preceding exercises 
— chiefly by intensifying the Waves and Itifiections . 

AUTHORITATIVE AND ANGRY INQUIRY 

Em.ploys a good deal of Force of Voice, Radical, Vanishing, and Thorough 
Efiforce?netit, and the Wider Intervals, with the Loud Orotund. 

SNEERING, SCORNFUL INTERROGATION, 

Or Surprise or Exclamation, mixed with Interrogation, calls for Van- 
ishijig, Compound, or Thorotigh Stress, mixed with Aspiration or Guttural 
Qxiality of Voice, and the Orotund. 



EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS AND EMOTIONS. „ ^. 

PLAINTIVE INTERROGATION 

Is the opposite of Plaintive Exclamation, and therefore requires the Chro- 
matic Melody and Inverted Wave ; the first constituent being a Semitone^ 
and the last a Rising Third, Fourth.Fifth, or Octave. 

HUMILITY, MODESTY, AND SHAME, 

With Caution, Irresolution, Fatigue, Apathy, Tranquility, and 
Weakness, generally demand the Simple Diatonic Melody, Feebleness of 
Voice, and Slow Time. 



We have multiplied Examples from a wide range of authors, selected 
especially for their variety and appropriateness in exhibiting the sentiment 
and emotion required; and we now say to the student — practice, prac- 
tice ! Do not be easily discouraged. If it is possible for you to form a 
class, and secure the services of an accomplished master, who can save time 
and study for you by giving an appropriate model, do so ; but do not rely 
upon this, even. Help yourself! We smile at the enumeration of the 
formal apparatus of Athenian rhetorical education, which, in addition to its 
long and classified array of grammarians and rhetoricans, furnished, it is 
said, yfz'.? gradations of schools for different species of muscular exercise, 
and tlwee distinct .classes of instructors for the voice — one to superintend 
practice in Pitch, another to conduct the exercises in Force, and a third to 
regulate vocal Melody and Inflections. Modern taste forbids this fastidious 
multiplicity and minuteness of appliances ; but it makes, as yet, no adequate 
provision for the acquiring of that moral and intellectual power, and that ex- 
pressive force, which result from the blending of a high-toned physical and 
mental training. The customary routine of academic declamation consists 
in permitting or compelling a student to '■ speak," and pointing out his faults, 
after they have been committed. But it offers no genial inducement to the 
exercise and provides no preventive training by which faults might be 
avoided. This state of things is being changed ; and the leading institutions 
of the counti-y are introducing physical and vocal exercises — thereby intend- 
ing to keep the connection between thought and its appropriate expression. 
To aid in this important work, this Book is sent forth. 



SELECTIONS. 



EVERETT'S VINDICATION OF AMERICA,~i863. 

In the factories of Europe there is machinery of American in- 
vention or improvement; in their observatories, telescopes of 
American construction, and apparatus of American invention 
for recording the celestial phenomena, America contests with 
Europe the introduction into actual use of the electric telegraph, 
and her mode of operating it is adopted throughout the French 
empire. American authors in almost every department are 
found on the shelves of European libraries. It is true no 
American Homer, Virgil, Dante, Copernicus, Shakespeare, 
Bacon, Milton, Newton, has risen on the world. These mighty 
geniuses seem to be exceptions in the history of the human 
mind. Favorable circumstances do not produce them, nor does 
the absence of favorable circumstances prevent their appearance. 
Homer rose in the dawn of Greek culture, Virgil flourished in 
the court of Augustus, Dante ushered in the birth of the new 
European civilization, Copernicus was reared in a Polish cloister, 
Shakespeare was trained in the green room of the theatre, Mil- 
ton was formed while the elements of English thought and life 
were fermenting towards a great political and moral revolution, 
Newton under the profligacy of the restoration. Ages may 
elapse before any country will produce a man like these, as two 
centuries have passed since the last mentioned of them were 
born. But if it is really a matter of reproach to the United 
States, that in the comparatively short period of their existence 
as a people, they have not added another name to the illustrious 
list (which is equally true of all the other nations of the earth,) 
94 



SELECTIONS. ^ 

they may proudly boast of one example of life and character, 
one career of disinterested service, one model of public virtue, 
the type of human excellence, of which all the countries and all 
the ages may be searched in vain for the parallel. I need not 
— on this day I need not — speak the peerless name. It is 
stamped on your hearts, it glistens in your eyes, it is written on 
every page of your history, on the battle-fields of the Revolu- 
tion, on the monuments of your fathers, on the portals of your 
Capitols. It is heard in every breeze that whispers over the 
fields of independent America. And he was all our own. He 
grew upon the soil of America ; he was nurtured at her bosom. 
She loved and trusted him in his youth; she honored and re- 
vered him in his age ; and though she did not wait for death to 
canonize his name, his precious memory, with each succeeding 
year, has sunk more deeply into the hearts of his countrymen. 



THE TEMPERANCE DRINK. 

Water ! oh, bright, beautiful water for me. Water ! heaven- 
gifted, earth-blessing, flower-loving water ! It was the drink of 
Adam in the purity of his Eden home — it mirrored back the 
beauty of Eve in her unblushing toilet — it awakens to life again 
the crushed and fading flower — it cools, oh, how gratefully ! the 
parched tongue of the feverish invalid — it falls down to us in 
pleasant showers from its home in the glittering stars — it de- 
scends to us in feathery storms of snow — it smiles in shining 
dew-drops at the glad birth of morning — it clusters in great tear- 
drops at night over the graves of those we love — its name is 
wreathed in strange, bright colors by the sunset cloud — its name 
is breathed by the dying soldier, far away on the torrid field of 
battle — it paints old forts and turrets, from a gorgeous easel, on 
your winter window — it clings upon the branches of trees in 
frost-work of delicate beauty — it dwells in the icicle — it lives in 
the mountain glacier — it forms the vapory ground- work upon 
which God paints the rainbow — it gushes in pearly streams from 



/r ELOCUTION. 

the gentle hillside — it makes glad the sunny vales — it murmurs 
cheerful songs in the ear of the humble cottager — it answers 
back the smiles of happy children — it kisses the pure cheek of 
the water lily — it wanders like a vein of molten silver away, 
away to the distant sea — oh, bright, beautiful, health-inspiring, 
heart-gladdening water ! Everywhere around us dwelleth thy 
meek presence — twin angel sister of all that is good and precious 
here — in the wild forest — on the grassy plain — slumbering in 
the bosom of the lonely mountain — sailing with viewless wings 
through the humid air — floating over us in curtains of more than 
regal splendor — home of the healing angel when his wines bend 
to the woes of this fallen world. 

" Oh, water, pure water, bright water for me, 
And wine for the trembling debauchee !" 



TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

I've wandered to the village, \ Tom ; I've sat beneath the tree. 
Upon the school house play-growtd, which sheltered you and me ; 
But none were there to greet me, Tom, and few were left to know, 
That played with us upon the green, some twenty years ago. 

The grass was just as green, Tom, | bare-footed boys at play 
Were sporting just as we did then, with spirits just as gay ; 
But " Master" sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o'er with snow. 
Afforded us a sliding place just twenty years ago. 

The school house has altered some — the benches are replaced 
By new ones, very like the same our pen-knives had defaced ; 
But the same old bricks are in the wall — the bell swings to and fro, 
Its music just the same, dear Tom, 't was twenty years ago. 

The boys were playing some old game, beneath that same old tree ; 
I do forget the name just now — you've played the same with me — 
On that same spot, 't was played with knives, by throwing so and so ; 
The leader had a task to do — there twenty years ago. 

The river's running just as still, the willows on its side 

Are larger than they were, Tom ; the stream appears less wide ; 



SELECTIONS. , 

97 

But the grape-vine swing is ruined now- where once we played the beau, 
And swung our sweet-hearts | ' pretty girls" | just twenty years ago. 

The spring that bubbled 'neath the hilL close by the spreading beech 
Is very loiv — 'twas once so high, that we could almost reach ; 
And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, | / startled so, 
To see how much I've changed j since twenty years ago. 

Near by the spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name. 
Your sweet-heart's just beneath it, Tom, and you did mane the same ; 
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 't was dying sure but slow, 
Just as that one, whose name you cut, | died twenty years ago. 

My lids have long been dry, Tom, | but tears came in my eyes ; 
I thought of her I loved so well, those early broken ties ; 
I visited the old church-yard, and took some flowers to strew 
Upon the graves of those we loved | some twejity years ago. 

Some are in the church-yard laid — some sleep beneath the sea ; 
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me ; 
And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called to go, 
J hope they'll lay us where ^Nt played just twenty years ago. 



ENGLAND AGAINST WAR. 

K. W. BEECHER, — 1 863. — LONDON. 

I hear a loud protest against war. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. 
Chairman, — there is a small band in our country and in yours 
— I wish their number were quadrupled — who have borne a 
solemn and painful testimony against all wars, under all circum- 
stances; and although I differ with them on the subject of de- 
fensive warfare, yet when men that rebuked their own land, 
and all lands, now rebuke us, though I can not accept their 
judgment, I bow with profound respect to their consistency. 
But excepting them I regard this British horror of the Ameri- 
can war as som.ething wonderful. Why, it is a phenomenon in 
itself! On what shore has not the prow of your ships dashed .'' 
What land is there with a name and a people where your ban- 
ner has not led your soldiers } And when the great resurrec- 



O ELOCUTION. 

tion reveille shall sound, it will muster British soldiers from 
every clime and people under the whole heaven. Ah ! but it is 
said this is a war against your Own blood. How long is it since 
you poured soldiers into Canada, and let all your yards work 
night and day to avenge the taking of two men Out of the Trent ? 
Old England shocked at a war of principle ! She gained her 
glories in such a war. Old England ashamed of a war of prin- 
ciple ! Her national ensign symbolizes her history — the cross 
in a field of blood. And will you tell us — who inherit your 
blood, your ideas, and your pluck — that we must not fight ? 
The child must heed the parents until the parents get old and 
tell the child not to do the thing that in early life they whipped 
him for not doing. And then the child says, father and mother 
are getting too old ; they had better be taken away from their 
present home and come to live with us. Perhaps you think 
there is coal enough. Perhaps you think the stock is not quite 
run out yet ; but whenever England comes to that state that 
she does not go to war for principle, she had better emigrate, 
and we will get room for her. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE. 

W. C. BRYANT. 

Come, let us plant the apple-tree ' 

Cleave the tough greensward with the spade ; 

Wide let its hollow bed be made ; 

There gently lay the roots, and there 

Sift the dark mould with kindly care. 

And press it o'er them tenderly. 
As, round the sleeping infant's feet, 
We softly fold the cradle-sheet ; 
So plant we the apple-tree. 

What plant we in the apple-tree ? 

Buds, which the breath of summer days 

Shall lengthen into leafy sprays , 

Boughs, where the thmsh with crimson breast 



SELECTIONS. 

99 

Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest. 

We plant upon the sunny lea 
A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

When we plant the apple-tree. 

What plant we in the apple-tree ? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs, 
To load the May-wind's restless wings, 
When, from the orchard-row, he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors ; 

A world of blossoms for the bee ; 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room ; 
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, 

We plant with the apple-tree. 

What plant we in the apple-tree ? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon, 
And drop as gentle airs come by 
That fan the blue September sky ; 

While children, wild with noisy glee, 
Shall scent their fragrance as they pass, 
And search for them the tufted grass 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 

And when above this apple-tree 
The winter stars are quivering bright, 
And winds go howling through the night. 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth, 

And guests in prouder homes shall see. 
Heaped with the orange and the grape. 
As fair as they m tint and shape. 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 

The fruitage of this apple-tree 

Winds and our flag of stripe and star 

Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 

Where men shall wonder at the view. 

And ask m what fair groves they grew ; ( 

And they who roam beyond the sea ' 

Shall look, and think of childhood's day, 
And long hours passed in summer play 

In the shade of the apple-tree. I 



lOO 



ELOCUTION. 

Each year shall give this apple-tree 
A broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, 
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. 

The years shall come and pass, but we 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie, 
The summer's song, the autumn's sigh, 

In the boughs of the apple-tree. 

And time shall waste this apple-tree. 
Oh, when its aged branches throw 
Thin shadows on the sward below, 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still ? 

What shall the tasks of mercy be, 
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 
Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this apple-tree? 

"Who planted this old apple-tree?" 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man will say ; 
And, gazing on its mossy stem. 
The gray-haired man shall answer them : 

" A poet of the land was he. 
Born in the rude, but good old times ; 
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes 

On planting the apple-tree." 



VI. 

THE DRUMMER'S BRIDE. 

a Hollow-eyed and pale at the window of a jail. 

Through her soft disheveled hair, a maniac did stare, h stare, stare ! 

At a distance, down the street, making music with their feet, 

Came the soldiers from the wars, all embellished with their scars, 
C To the tapping of a drum, of a drum ; 

To the pounding and the sounding of a drum ' 
d Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum ! 



a All the music of the sub-vocal 31 maybe brought out in reading this selection. Begin 
slow in the narrative voice, with such action as will represent the jail to the audience on 
the right, b Slow and slightly aspirate. c Musical and measured, d Prolong the M 



SELECTIONS. 

e The woman heaves a sigh, and a fire fills her eye. 

When she hears the distant drum, she cries f " Here they come ! here 

they come !" 
Then, clutching fast the grating, with eager, nervDus waiting, 
See, she looks into the air. through her long and silky hair, 
For the echo of a drum, of a drum ; 
For the cheering and the hearing of a drum ! 
Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum ! 

g And nearer, nearer, nearer, comes, more distinct and clearer. 

The rattle of the drumming ; shrieks the woman, 1i " He is coming. 

He is coming now to me ; quick, drummer, quick, till I see !" 

And her eye is glassy bright, while she beats in mad delight 

To the echo of a drum, of a drum ; 

To the rapping, tapping, tapping of a drum I 

Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum ! 

i Now she sees them, in the street, march along with dusty feet, 

As she looks through the spaces, gazing madly in their faces ; 

And she reaches out her hand,,^' screaming wildly to the band ; 
Ti But her words, like her lover, are lost beyond recover, 

'Mid the beating of a drum, of a drum ; 

'Mid the clanging and the banging of a drum ! 

Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum ! 

So the pageant passes by, and the woman's flashing eye 
/ Quickly loses all its stare, and fills with a tear, with a tear ; 
As, sinking from her place, with her hands upon her face. 
'' Hear !" she weeps and sobs as mild as a disappointed child j 
Sobbing. ' He will never come, never come ' 
Now nor ever, never, never, will he come 
With his drum, with his drum, with his drum .' drum, drum, drum !" 

Still the drummer, up the street, beats his distant, dying beat. 
And she shouts, within her cell, m ' Ha ' they're marching down to hell, 
And the devils dance and wait at the open iron gate : 
n Hark ! it is the dying sound, as they march into the ground, 
To the sighing and the dying of the drum ! 
To the throbbing and the sobbing of the drum I 
Of a drum, of a drum, of a drum ! drum, drum, drum 1" 

sound in imitation of the drum , marching time. c Lower pitch ; slow movement, with 
feehng. / High pitch ; personation, then narrative with gesture. Close the stanza as the 
first, prolonging the JIT element in the last line, g Repetitions require change of pitch. 
Increase on these words, li Shriek this personation; continue little lower pitch, but with 
animation ; close this stanza more rapidly than the others ; represent the soldiers marching 
past, i High pitch and animated, j Very high. h Low pitch ; slow, with feeling. I 
Close this line with tremor voice — and personation same — with much emotion. »» Very 
loud, with action, n Low and slow, with vanishing sound, as if the drum sound was in the 
distance. 



JQ2 ELOCUTION. 



THE BACHELOR'S CANE-BOTTOMED CHAIR 

In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, 
And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, 
Away from the world and its toils and its cares, 
I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. 

To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure. 

But the fire there is bright and the air rather pure ; 

And the view I behold on a sunshiny day 

Is grand, through the chimney-pots over the way. 

This snug little chamber is crammed in all nooks. 

With worthless old knickknacks and silly old books. 

And foolish old odds and foolish old ends, 

Cracked bargains from brokers, cheap keepsakes from friends, 

Old armor, prints, pipes, china (all cracked,) 
Old rickety tables, and chairs broken-backed ; 
A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see ; 
What matter ? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, and me. 

No better divan need the Sultan require, 
Than the creaking old sofa that basks by the fire ; 
And 'tis wonderful, surely, what music you get 
From the rickety, ramshackle, wheezy spinet. 

That praying-rug came from the Turcoman's camp ; 
By Tiber once twinkled that brazen old lamp ; 
A Mameluke fierce, yonder dagger has drawn ; 
'Tis a murderous knife to toast muffins upon. 

Long, long through the hours, and the night, and the chimes, 
Here we talk of old books, and old friends, and old times ; 
As we sit in a fog made of rich Latakie 
This chamber is pleasant to you, friend, and me. 

But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest, 
There's one that I love and cherish the best ; 
For the finest of couches that's padded with hair, 
I never would change thee, my cane-bottomed chair. 

'Tis a bandy-legged, high-shouldered, worm-eaten seat. 
With a creaking old back, and twisted old feet ; 
But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, 
I bless thee and love thee, old cane-bottomed chair. 



SELECTIONS. j^^ 

If chairs have but feelings in holding such charms, 

A thrill must have passed through your old withered arms. 

I looked and I longed, and I wished in despair : 

I wished myself turned to a cane-bottomed chair. 

It was but a moment she sat in this place, 

She'd a scarf on her neck and a smile on her face ! 

A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, 

And she sat there and bloomed in my cane-bottomed chair. 

And so I have valued my chair ever since. 

Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of a prince ; 

Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I declare, 

The queen of my heart and my cane-bottomed chair. 

When the candles burn low, and the company's gone, 

In the silence of night as I sit here alone — 

I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair — 

My Fanny I see in my cane-bottomed chair. 

She comes from the past and revisits my room. 
She looks as she then did, all beauty and bloom — 
So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair — 
And yonder she sits, in my cane-bottomed chair. 



VIII. 
THE BELLS. 

E. A, POE. 

Hear the sledges with the bells, silver bells — 

What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! 

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, in the icy air of night ! 

While the stars that oversprinkle all the heavens, seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight — 
Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme. 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells — 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells, golden bells. 
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night how they ring out their delight ! 
From the molten-golden notes, all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 



jQ. ELOCUTION. 

To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats on the moon. 

Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 
How it swells, how it dwells 

On the Future ! how it tells of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing of the bells, bells, bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells — 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells. 

Hear the loud alarum bells, brazen bells ! 

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 

In the startled ear of night how they scream out their affright ! 

Too much horrified to speak, they can only shriek, shriek, 

Out of tune, 
In the clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, with a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor, now — now to sit or never. 

By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells, what a tale their terror tells of Despair ! 
How they clang, and clash and roar ! what a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 

Yet the ear it fully knows, 
By the twanging and the clanging, how the danger ebbs and flows ; 

Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
In the jangling, and the wrangling, how the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 

Flear the tolling of the bells, iron bells ! 

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! 

In the silence of the night, how we shiver with affright 

At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats from the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people ; they that dwell up in the steeple 

All alone, 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, in that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling on the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman ; they are neither brute nor human, 

They are ghouls ; 
And their king it is who tolls ; and he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, 
A paean from the bells ! and his merry bosom swells 



SELECTIONS 

With the paean of the bells ! and he dances and he yells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the paean of the bells, of the bells : 
Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the throbbing of the bells, of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, as he knells, knells, knells. 
In a happy Runic rhyme, to the rolling of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, to the tolling of the bells 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 



I OS 



IX . 

A CATEGORICAL COURTSHIP. 

I sat one night beside a blue-eyed girl — 
The fire was out, and so, too, was her mother, 
A feeble flame around the lamp did curl, 
Making faint shadows, blending in each other ; 
'Twas nearly twelve o'clock, too, in November, 
She had a shawl on, also, I remember. 
Well, I had been to see her every night 
For thirteen days, and had a sneaking notion 
To pop the question, thinking all was right. 
And once or twice had made an awkward motion 
To take her hand, and stammered, coughed, and stuttered, 
But somehow nothing to the point had uttered. 
I thought this chance too good now to be lost ; 
I hitched my chair up pretty close beside her. 
Drew a long breath, and then my legs I crossed. 
Bent over, sighed, and for five minutes eyed her ; 
She looked as if she knew what next was coming. 
And with her foot upon the floor was drumming. 
I didn't know how to begin, or where — 
I couldn't speak, the words were always choking, 
I scarce could move — I seemed tied in my chair — 
I hardly breathed — 't was awfully provoking ; 
The perspiration from each pore was oozing. 
My heart and brain and limbs their power seemed losing. 
At length I saw a brindle tabby cat 
Walk purring up, inviting me to pat her ; 
An idea came, electric-like, at that — 



io6 



ELOCUTION. 

My doubts, like summer clouds, began to scatter, 
I seized on' tabby, though a scratch she gave me, 
And said, "Come, Puss, ask Mary if she'll have me?" 
'Twas done at once — the murder now was out, 
The thing was all explained in half a minute ; 
She blushed, and turning pussy cat about. 
Said, " Pussy, tell him, yes !" Her foot was in it ! 
The cat had thus saved me my category. 
And here's the catastrophe of my story. 



X. 

THE CLAIMS OF ITALY. 

I will leave antiquity out of the question, and speak only of 
modern times. Is it not a striking spectacle to see Italy always 
give the signal to the world, always open the way to great 
things } The first modern epic poet is an Italian — Dante ; 
the first lyric poet is an Italian — Petrarch; the first poet of 
chivalry is an Italian — Boccaccio ; the first painter in the 
world is an Italian — Raffaelle ; the first statuary is an Italian 
— Michael Angelo ; the first vigorous statesman and historian 
of the revival is an Italian — Machiavelli ; the first philosophical 
historian is an Italian — Nico ; the discoverer of the New World 
is an Italian — Christopher Columbus; and the first demon- 
strator of the laws of the heavenly worlds is an Italian — Gali- 
leo. You will find a son of Italy standing on every step of the 
temple of genius ever since the twelfth century. Then, in times 
nearer to our own, while all other nations are working at the 
continuation of this immortal gallery, Italy from time to time 
collects her strength, and presents to the world a colossus sur- 
passing all. Now, even now, the greatest of living artists — 
the only one, perhaps, who deserves, solely as an artist, the title 
of a great man — is he not an Italian — Rossini.^ And lastly, 
was he not also a son of Italy — that giant who towered above 
the whole century, and covered all around him with his light 
or his shade — Napoleon } In fact, it would seem that when 
Providence wanted a guide or a leader for humanity, it strikes 
this favored soil, and a great man springs forth. 



SELECTIONS. ^ 

XI. 

DRUNKARDS NOT ALL BRUTES. 

JOHN B. GOUGH. 

I said when I began, that I was a trophy of this movement ; 
and therefore the principal part of my work has been (not ig- 
noring other parts,) in behalf of those who have suffered as I 
have suffered. You know there is a great deal said about the 
reckless victims of this foe being "brutes." No, they are not 
brutes. I have labored for about eighteen years among them, 
and I never have found a brute. I have had men swear at me ; 
I have had a man dance around me as if possessed of a devil, 
and spit his foam in my face ; but he is not a brute. I think it 
is Charles Dickens who says : " Away up a great many pair of 
stairs, in a very remote corner, easily passed by, there is a door, 
and on that door is written ' woman.' " And so in the heart of 
the vile outcast, away up a great many pair of stairs, in a very 
remote corner, easily passed by, there is a door on which is 
written " man." Here is our business to find that door. It 
may take time; but begin and knock. Don't .get tired ; but 
remember God's long-suffering for us and keep knocking a 
long time if need be. Don't get weary if there is no answer ; 
remember him whose locks were wet with dew. Knock on — 
just try it — yoit try it ; and just so sure as you do, just so sure, 
by and by, will the quivering lip and starting tear tell you have 
knocked at the heart of a man, and not of a brute. It is because 
these poor wretches are men, and not brutes that we have hopes 
of them. They said "he is a brute — let him alone." I took 
him home with me and kept the " brute" fourteen days and 
nights, through his delirium ; and he nearly frightened Mary out 
of her wits, once, chasing her about the house with a boot in 
his hand. But she recovered her wits, and he recovered his. 
He said to me, " You wouldn't think I had a wafe and child .'*" 
" Well, I shouldn't." " I have, and — God bless her little heart 
— my little Mary is as pretty a little thing as ever stepped," 
said the " brute." I asked, " where do they live V " They live 
two miles away from here." "When did you see them last.-*" 



io8 



ELOCUTION 



^' About two years ago." Then he told me his story. I said, 
'' you must go back to your home again." " I mustn't go back 
— I won't — my wife is better without me than with me ! I will 
not go back any more ; I have knocked her, and kicked her, 
and abused her ; do you suppose I will go back again.?" I 
went to the house with him ; I knocked at the door and his 
wife opened it. " Is this Mrs Richardson ?" "Yes, sir." "Well, 
that is Mr. Richardson. And Mr. Richardson, that is Mrs. 
Richardson. Now come into the house." 

They went in. The wife sat on one side of the room and the 
"brute" on the other. I waited to see who would speak first; 
and it was the woman. But before she spoke she fidgetted a 
good deal. She pulled her apron till she got hold of the hem, 
and then she pulled it down again. Then she folded it up 
closely, and jerked it out through her fingers an inch at a time, 
and then she spread it all down again ; and then she looked all 
about the room and said, " Well, William .?" And the "brute" 
said, " Well, Mary ?" He had a large handkerchief round his 
neck, and she said, "'You had better take the handkerchief off, 
William ; you'll need it when you go out." He began to 
fumble about it. The knot was large enough ; he could have 
untied it if he liked; but he said, "Will you untie it, Mary.?" 
and she worked away at it ; but /ler fingers were clumsy, and 
she couldn't get it off; their eyes met, and the lovelight was not 
all quenched ; she opened her arms gently and he fell into them. 
If you had seen those white arms clasped about his neck, and 
he sobbing on her breast, and the child looking in wonder first 
at one and then at the other, you would have said " It is not a 
brute; it is a man, with a great, big, warm heart in his breast." 



XII. 

THE ADMISSION OF CALIFORNIA. 

W. H. SEWARD. J 

A year ago, California was a mere military dependency of our j 

own, and we were celebrating with unanimity and enthusiasm 



SELECTIONS. 

its acquisition, with its newly-discovered but yet untold and un- 
touched mineral wealth, as the most auspicious of many and un- 
paralleled achievements.' 

To-day, California is a State, more populous than the least 
and richer than several of the greatest of our thirty States. 
This same California, thus rich and populous, is here asking 
admission into the Union, and finds us debating the dissolu- 
tion of the Union itself. 

No wonder if we are perplexed with ever-changing embar- 
rassments ! No wonder if we are appalled by ever-increasing 
responsibilities ! No wonder if we are bewildered by the ever- 
augmenting magnitude and rapidity of national vicissitudes ! 

Shall California be received ? For myself, upon my in- 
dividual judgment and conscience, I answer. Yes. For my- 
self, as an instructed representative of one of the States, of that 
one even of the States which is soonest and longest to be 
pressed in commercial and political rivalry by the new common- 
wealth, I answer, Yes. Let California come in. Every new 
State, whether she come from the East or from the West, every 
new State, coming from whatever part of the continent she may, 
is always welcome. But California, that comes from the clime 
where the west dies away into the rising east; California, which 
bounds at once the empire and the continent ; California, the 
youthful queen of the Pacific, in her robes of freedom, gorgeous- 
ly inlaid with gold — is doubly welcome. 

Let, then, those who distrust the Union make compromise to 
save it. I shall not impeach their wisdom, as I certainly can 
not their patriotism ; but, indulging no such apprehension my- 
self, I shall vote for the admission of California directly, with- 
out conditions, without qualifications, and without compromise. 

For the vindication of that vote I look not to the verdict of 
the passing hour, disturbed as the public mind now is by con- 
flicting interests and passions, but to that period, happily not 
far distant, when the vast regions over which we are now legis- 
lating shall have received their destined inhabitants. 

While looking forward to that day, its countless generations 
seem to me to be rising up and passing in dim and shadowy re- 



ELOCUTION. 

view before us ; and a voice comes forth from their serried 
ranks, saying, " Waste your treasures and your armies, if you 
will ; raze your fortifications to the ground ; sink your navies 
into the sea ; transmit to us even a dishonored name, if you 
must ; but the soil you hold in trust for us — give it to us free. 
You found it free, and conquered it to extend a better and 
surer freedom over it. AVhatever choice you have made for 
yourselves, let us have no partial freedom • let us all be free , 
let the reversion of your broad domain descend to us unincum- 
bered, and free from the calamities and the sorrows of human 
bondage." 



POOR LITTLE JIM. 

, The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean. 
But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean ; 
The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, 
As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child : 
A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim : 
It was a collier's wife and child, they called him little Jim. 

, And oh ! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, 
As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak, 
Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life ; 
For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife. 
With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer's bed, 
And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead. 

She gets her answer from the child : soft fall the words from him, 

" Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim, 

I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh ! I am so dry, 

Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't you cry." 

With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip ; 

He smiled to thank her, as he took each little, tiny sip. 

. *' Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him. 
And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas ! poor little Jim ! 
She knew that he was dying ; that the child she loved so dear 
Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear : 
The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is heard, 
The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word. 



SELECTIONS. 

He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead, 
He took the candle in his hand and walked towards the bed , 
His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd fain conceal, 
And see, his wife has joined him — the stricken couple kneel : 
With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him, 
In heaven, once more, to meet again their own poor little Jim. 



Ill 



THE LITTLE ORATOR, a 

Pray how should I, a little lad, 

b In speaking make a figure? 

C You're only joking, I'm afraid — 

Do wait till I am bigger. 

d But, since you wish to hear my part, 

And urge me to begin it, 
e ril strive for praise with all my heart. 

Though small the hope to win it. 

I'll tell a tale, /'how farmer John 
A little roan colt bred, sir. 

And every night and every morn, 
He watered and he fed, sir. 

g Said neighbor Joe to farmer John, 
" Ar'n't you a silly dolt, sir. 
To spend such time and care upon 
A little, useless colt, sir?" 

Said farmer John to neighbor Joe, 
'■ I bring my little roan up, 

Not for the good he now can do. 
But will do. when he's grown up." 

The moral you can well espy, 
To keep the tale from spoiling, 



a This is the best selection we have ever seen for a child to begin with. He can recite 
It and retain his childish simplicity, which is much to be desired. b Give this line with 
double gesture, palms up. c Right hand extended to the teacher. <? Return the atten. 
tion to the audience, e Right hand raised to the temples or the region of the heart. / Ges- 
ticulate to the right or left. g Change position ; step forward or to one side ; raise the 
voice, and do not fail to be animated in the personation ; one voice for Joe, and one for 



ELOCUTION. 

h The little colt, you think, is I — 
I know it by your smiling. 

i And now, my friends, please to excuse 
My lisping and my stammers ; 
I, for this once, have done my best, 
J And so I'll make my manners. 



THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. 

W. p. PALMER. 

a A District School, not far away 

Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, 
Was humming with its wonted noise 
Of threescore mingled girls and boys — 
Some few upon their tasks intent. 
But more on furtive mischief bent ; 

b The while the Master's downward look 
Was fastened on a copy-book — 
When suddenly, behind his back, 
Rose, loud and clear, a rousing smack ! 
As 't were a battery of bliss 
Let off in one tremendous kiss ' 

C "What's that?" the startled Master cries ■ 

d *' That, thir," a little imp replies. 

" Wath William Willith, if you pleathe — 
I thaw him kith Thuthannah Peathe i" 

e With frown to make a statue thrill, 

The Master thundered,/ -'Hither, Willi" 
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track. 
With stolen chattels on his back, 
Will hung his head in fear and shame, 



John. It will not be difficult for a child to give these voices, if he will change pitch and 
force, /i With a smile and a gesture to himself, pause after ''I." i Both hands ex- 
tended. ./ As the last line is uttered, the lad may step back ^nd with a bow on " manners,' 
retire. 

a Narrative ; pure voice ; unemotional, h Imitate the teacher, c High pitch, d Low 
pitch ; lisping, e Narrative. / Personation, 



SELECTIONS, 



And to the awful presence came — 
A great, green, bashful simpleton, 
The butt of all good-natured fun — 
With smile suppressed, and birch upraised, 
The threatener faltered — g '^ I'm amazed 
That you, my biggest pupil, should 
Be guilty of an act so rude ! 
Before the whole set school to boot — 
What evil genius put you to 't ?" 
. "'T was she. herself, sir," sobbed the lad. 
" I didn't mean to be so bad — 
But when Susannah shook her curls, 
And whispered I was 'feared of girls, 
And dassn't kiss a baby's doll, 
I couldn't stand it, sir. at all ! 
But up and ki-ssed her on the spot, 
I know — boo hoo — I ought to not. 
But, somehow, from her looks, boo hoo, 
I thought she kind o' wished me to !" 



THE LOST PANTALOONS. 

It chanced to be on washing day. 

And all our things were drying. 

The storm came roaring through the lines 

And set them all a-flying ; 

I saw the shirts and petticoats 

Go riding off like witches, 

I lost — ah ! bitterly I wept, — 

I lost my Sunday breeches. 

I saw them straddling through the air, 
Alas I too late to win them. 
I saw them chase the clouds as if 
The mischief had been in them. 
They were my darlings and my pride. 
My boyhood's only riches ; 



fj Personation, h Like a bashful booby, crying, talking. Do not be afraid of c 
dcing It. 



114 



ELOCUTION. 

*'Fare\velL farewell." I faintly cried, 
"My breeches, oh, my breeches," 

3. That night I saw them in my dreams. 
How changed from what I knew them ; 
The dew had steeped their faded seams, 
The wind had whistled through them ; 

I saw the wide and ghastly rents 
Where demon claws had torn them : 
A hole was in their hinder parts 
As if an imp had worn them. 

4. I have had many happy years 
And tailors kind and clever ; 

But those young pantaloons have gone 

For ever and for ever ; 

And not till fate has cut the last 

Of all my earthly stitches, 

This aching heart shall cease to mourn 

My loved — my long lost breeches. 



SALE OF CUPID. 

TRANSLATED FROM MELEAGER. 

Who'll buy a little boy ? Look, yonder is he, 

Fast asleep, the sly rogue, on his mother's knee ; 

So bold a young imp 't is not safe to keep, 

So I'll part with him now, while he's sound asleep, 

See his arch little nose, how sharp it is curl'd. 

His wings, too, even in sleep unfurl'd ; 

And those fingers, which still ever ready are found 

For mirth or for mischief, to tickle or wound. 

He'll try with his tears your heart to beguile, 
But never you mind — he's laughing all the while ; 
For little he cares, so he has his own whim, 
And weeping or laughing, 't is all one to him. 
His eye is as keen as the lightning's flash, 
His tongue, like the red bolt, keen and rash ; 
And so savage is he, that his own dear mother 
Is scarce, in his hands, more safe than another. 



SELECTIONS. 

In short, to sum up this prodigy's praise. 
He's a downright pest in all sorts of ways. 
And if any one wants such an imp to employ. 
He shall have a dead bargain of this little boy. 
But see, the boy wakes — his bright tears flow — 
His eyes seem to ask, Could I sell him ? Oh, no ; 
Sweet child, no. no, — though so naughty you be ; 
You shall live evermore with my Lesbia and me. 



115 



XVIII. 

THE ELOCUTION OF THE PULPIT. 

JAMES FORDYCE. 

I can not forbear regretting here, that a matter of such vast 
importance to preaching, as delivery, should be so generally 
neglected or misunderstood. A common apprehension pre- 
vails, indeed, that a strict regard to these rules would be deemed 
theatrical; and the dread, perhaps, of incurring this impu- 
tation is a restraint upon many. But is it not possible to ob- 
tain a just and expressive manner, perfectly consistent with the 
gravity of the pulpit, and yet quite distinct from the more pas- 
sionate, strong, and diversified action of the theatre ? And is 
it not possible to hit off this manner so easily and naturally, 
as to leave no room for just reflection ? An affair this, it must 
be owned, of the utmost delicacy ; in which we shall probably 
often miscarry, and meet with abimdance of ce7isure at first. But, 
still, I imagine, that through the regulations of taste, the im- 
provements of experience, the corrections of friendship, the 
feelings of piety, and the gradual mellowings of time, such an 
elocution may be acquired, as is above delineated ; and such as, 
when acquired, v>^ill make its way to the hearts of the hearers, 
through their ears and eyes, with a delight to both, that is sel- 
dom felt ; while, contrary to what is now practiced, it will ap- 
pear to the former the very language of nature, and present to 
the latter the lively i7nage of the preacher s soul. Were a taste 
for this kind of elocution to take place, it is difficult to say 



ii6 



ELOCUTION. 



how much the preaching art would gain by it. Pronunciation 
would be studied, an ear would be formed, the voice would be 
modulated, every feature of the face, every motion of the hands, 
every posture of the body, would be brought under right man- 
agement. A graceful, and correct, and animated expression in 
all these would be ambitiously sought after ; mutual criticisms 
and friendly hints would be universally acknowledged ; light 
and direction would be borrowed from every quarter, and from 
every age. The best models of antiquity would in a particular 
manner be admired, surveyed, and imitated. The sing-song 
voice, and the see-saw gestures, if I may be allowed to use 
those expressions, would, of course, be exploded ; and, in time, 
nothing would be admitted, at least approved, among perform- 
ers, but what was decent, manly, and truly excellent in kind. 
Even the people themselves would contract, insensibly, a grow- 
ing relish for such a manner ; and those preachers would at last 
be in chief repute with all, who followed nature, overlooked 
themselves, appeared totally absorbed in the subject, and spoke 
with real propriety and pathos, from the immediate impulse of 
truth and virtue. 



XIX. 

PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 

JOHN G. SAXE. 

This tragical tale, which, they say, is a true one, 

Is old ; but the manner is wholly a new one. 

One Ovid, a writer of some reputation, 

Has told it before in a tedious narration ; 

In a style, to be sure, of remarkable fullness, 

But which nobody reads on account of its dullness. 

Young Peter Pyramus — I call him Peter, 
Not for the sake of the rhyme of the meter ; 
But merely to make the name completer — 
For Peter lived in the olden times. 
And in one of the worst of pagan climes 



SELECTIONS. 

That flourish now in classical fame, 
Long before either noble or boor 
Had such a thing as a Chnsiian name — 
Young Peter, then, was a nice young beau 
As any young lady would wish to know ; 
In years. I ween, he was rather green. 
That is to say, he was just eighteen, — 
A trifle too short, a shaving too lean. 
But " a nice young man" as ever was seen. 
And fit to dance with a May-day Queen ! 

Now Peter loved a beautiful girl 

As ever ensnared the heart of an earl, 

In the magical trap of an auburn curl, — 

A little Miss Thisbe, who lived next door, 

(They slept, in fact, on the very same floor. 

With a wall between them and nothing more, — 

Those double dwellings were common of yore,) 

And they loved each other, the legends say. 

In that very beautiful, bountiful way, 

That every young maid and every young blade 

Are wont to do before they grow staid. 

And learn to love by the laws of trade. 

But (a-lack-a-day. for the girl and boy ') 

A little impediment checked their joy. 

And gave them awhile, the deepest annoy. 

For some good reason, which history cloaks. 

The match didn't happen to please the old folks ! 

So Thisbe's father and Peter's mother 

Began the young couple to worry and bother. 

And tried their innocent passion to smother. 

By keeping the lovers from seeing each other ! 

But who ever heard of a marriage deterred 

Or even deferred 

By any contrivance so very absurd 

As scolding the boy, and caging the bird ? 

Now, Peter, who was not discouraged at all 

By obstacles such as the timid appall, 

Contrived to discover a hole in the wall, 

Which wasn't so thick but removing a brick 

Made a passage — though rather provokingly small. 

Through this little chink the lover could greet her. 

And secrecy made their courting the sweeter, 

While Peter kissed Thisbe, and Thisbe kissed Peter- 



117 



ii8 



ELOCUTION. 

For kisses, like folks with diminutive souls, 

Will manage to creep through the smallest of holes! 

'T was here that the lovers, intent upon love. 

Laid a nice little plot to meet at a spot 

Near a mulberry-tree in a neighboring grove ; 

For the plan was all laid by the youth and the maid 

Whose hearts, it would seem, were uncommonly bold ones. 

To run off and get married in spite of the old ones. 

In the shadows of evening, as still as a mouse, 

The beautiful maiden slipped out of the house. 

The mulberry-tree impatient to find ; 

While Peter, the vigilant matrons to blind, 

Strolled leisurely out, some minutes behind. 

While waiting alone by the trysting tree, 
A terrible lion as e'er you set eye on. 
Came roaring along quite horrid to see, 
And caused the young maiden in terror to flee, 
(A lion's a creature whose regular trade is 
Blood — and " a terrible thing among ladies,") 
And losing her veil as she ran from the wood, 
The monster bedabbled it over with blood. 

Now Peter arriving and seeing the veil 

All covered o'er and reeking with gore. 

Turned, all of a sudden, exceedingly pale, 

And sat himself down to weep and to wail, — 

For, soon as he saw the garment, poor Peter, 

Made up his mind in very short meter, 

That Thisbe was dead, and the lion had eat her ! 

So breathing a prayer, he determined to share 

The fate of his darling, 'the loved and the lost," 

And fell on his dagger, and gave up the ghost ! 

Now Thisbe returning^ and viewing her beau.. 

Lying dead by her vail, (which she happened to know,) 

She guessed in a moment the cause of his erring ; 

And seizing the knife that had taken his life, 

In less than a jiffy was dead as a herring. 



Young gentleman — pray recollect if you please, 
Not to make assignations near mulberry-trees. 
Should your mistress be missing, it shows a weak head 
To be stabbing yourself, till you know she is dead. 



SELECTIONS 

Young ladies ! — you shouldn't go strolling about 
When your anxious mammas don't know you are out ; 
And remember that accidents often befall 
From kissing young fellows through holes in the wall ! 



119 



XX. 

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, 

RICHARD GRANT AVHITE. 

In his introduction to The Merchant of Ktv^/ci?, Mr. White, after showing " that the 
storj' of this comedy, even to its episodic part and its minutest incidents, bad been told 
again and again long before Shakespeare was born, ' vindicates him from the charge of 
plagiarism in the following matchless paragraph : — 

What then remains to Shakespeare ? and what is there to 
show that he is not a plagiarist? Everything that makes The 
Merchant of Venice what it is. The people are puppets, and 
the incidents are all in these old stories . They are mere bundles 
of barren sticks that the poet's touch causes to bloom like 
Aaron's rod : they are heaps of dry bones till he clothes them 
with human flesh and breathes into them the breath of life. 
Antonio, grave, pensive, prudent, save in his devotion to his 
young kinsman^ as a Christian hating the Jew. as a loyal mer- 
chant despising the usurer ; Bassanio, lavish yet provident, a 
generous gentleman although a fortune seeker, wise although 
a gay gallant, and manly though dependent ; Graiiano, who 
unites the not too common virtues of thorough good nature and 
unselfishness with the sometimes not unserviceable fault of 
talking for talk's sake ; Shylock, crafty and cruel, whose revenge 
is as mean as it is fierce and furious, whose abuse never rises 
to invective, or his anger into wrath, and who has yet some 
dignity of port as the avenger of a nation's wrongs, some claim 
upon our sympathy as a father outraged by his only child ; and 
Portia^ matchless impersonation of that rare woman who is 
gifted even more in intellect than in loveliness, and yet who 
stops gracefully short of the offence of intellectuality ; — these, 
not to notice minor characters no less perfectly arranged or 
completely developed after their kind, — these, and the poetry 



I20 



ELOCUTION. 



which is their atmosphere, and through which they beam upon 
us, all radiant in its golden light, are Shakespeare's only; and 
these it is, and not the incidents of old, and, but for these, for- 
gotten tales, that make The Merchant of Venice a priceless and 
imperishable dower to the queenly city that sits enthroned upon 
the sea ; — a dower of romance more bewitching than that of 
her moonlit waters and beauty-laden balconies, of adornment 
more splendid than that of her pictured palaces, of human in- 
terest more enduring than that of her blood-stained annals, 
more touching even than the sight of her faded grandeur. 



XXI. 

THE ALARM,— APRIL 19, 1776. 

GEORGE BANCROFT. 

Darkness closed upon the country and upon the town, but 
it was no night for sleep. Heralds on swift relays of horses 
transmitted the war-message from hand to hand, till village re- 
peated it to village ; the sea to the backwoods ; the plains to the 
highlands ; and it was never suffered to droop, till it had been 
borne North, and South, and East, and West, throughout the 
land. It spread over the bays that receive the Saco and Penob- 
scot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the trappers of New 
Hampshire, and ringing like bugle-notes from peak to peak, 
overleapt the Green Mountains, swept onward to Montreal, and 
descended the ocean river, till the responses were echoed from 
the cliffs of Quebec. The hills along the Hudson told to one 
another the tale. As the summons hurried to the South, it was 
one day at New York ; in one more at Philadelphia ; the next 
it lighted a watchfire at Baltimore ; thence it waked an answer 
at Annapolis. Crossing the Potomac near Mount Vernon, it 
was sent forward without a halt to Williamsburg. It traversed 
the Dismal Swamp to Nansemond, along the route of the first 
emigrants to North Carolina. It moved onward and still on- 
ward through boundless groves of evergreen to Newbern and to 
Wilmington. " For God's sake, forward it by night and by 



SELECTIONS. j2T 

day," wrote Cornelius Harnett, by the express which sped for 
Brunswick. Patriots of South Carolina caught up its tones at 
the border and despatched it to Charleston, and through pines 
and palmettos and moss-clad live oaks, further to the South, 
till it resounded among the New England settlements beyond 
the Savannah. Hillsborough and the Mecklenburg district of 
North Carolina rose in triumph, now that their wearisome uncer- 
tainty had its end. The Blue Ridge took up the voice and 
made it heard from one end to the other of the valley of Virgi- 
nia. The Alleghanies, as they listened, opened their barriers 
that the '' loud call" might pass through to the hardy riflemen 
on the Holston, the Watauga and the French Broad. Ever re- 
newing its strength, powerful enough even to create a common- 
wealth, it breathed its inspiring word to the first settlers of Ken- 
tucky ; so that hunters who made their halt in the matchless 
valley of the Elkhorn, commemorated the nineteenth day of 
April by naming their encampment Lexington. 

With one impulse the colonies sprung to arms ; with one 
spirit they pledged themselves to each other " to be ready for 
the extreme event." With one heart the continent cried, 
" Liberty or death." 



THE LOST STEAMSHIP. 

FITZ-J.\MES O'BRIEN. 

Ho. there ! fisherman, hold your hand ! 

Tell me what is that far away — 
There, where over the Isle of Sand 

Hangs the mist-cloud sullen and gray ? 
See ! It rocks with a ghastly life, 

Raising and rolling through clouds of spray, 
Right in the midst of the breakers' strife — ■ 

Tell me, what is it, Fisherman, pray ?" 

" That, good sir, was a steamer, stout 
As ever paddled around Cape Race, 



122 



ELOCUTION. 

And many's the wild and stormy bout 

She had with the winds m that self-same place ; 

But her time had come ; and at ten o'clock 
Last night she struck on that lonesome shore, 

And her sides were gnawed by the hidden rock, 
And at dawn this morning she was no more." 

" Come, as you seem to know, good man, 

The terrible fate of this gallant ship, 
Tell me all about her that you can, — 

And here's my flask to moisten your lip. 
Tell me how many she had on board — 

Wives and husbands, and lovers true — 
How did it fare with her human hoard, 

Lost she many' or lost she few^?" 

'■• Master, I may not drmk of your flask, 

Already too moist I feel my lip ; 
But I'm ready to do what else you ask. 

And spin you my yarn about the ship ; 
'Twas ten o'clock, as I said, last night. 

When she struck the breakers and went ashore. 
And scarce had broken the morning's light 

Than she sank in twelve feet of water, or more. 

" But long ere this they knew their doom. 

And the Captain called ail hands to prayer ; 
And solemnly over the ocean's boom 

The orisons rose on the troubled air. 
And round about the vessel there rose 

Tall plumes of spray as white as snow, 
Like angels in their ascension clothes. 

Waiting for those who prayed below. 

"So those three hundred people clung 

As well as they could to spar and I'ope ; 
With a word of prayer upon every tongue, 

Nor on any face a glimmer of hope. 
But there was no blubbering weak and wild — 

Of tearful faces I saw but one, 
A rough old salt, who cried like a child. 

And not for himself, but the Captain's son, 

" The Captain stood on the quarter-deck, 
Firm but pale, with trumpet in hand, 



SELECTIONS 

Sometimes he looked on the breaking wreck, 

Sometimes he sadly looked on land. 
And often he smiled to cheer the crew — 

But, Lord ! the smile was terrible grim — 
'Till over the quarter a huge sea flew, 

And that was the last they saw of him. 

" I saw one young fellow, with his bride. 

Standing amidship upon the wreck ; 
His face was white as the boiling tide, 

And she was clinging about his neck. 
And I saw them try to say good-bye, 

But neither could hear the other speak ; 
So they floated away through the sea to die — 

Shoulder to shoulder, and cheek to cheek. 

" And there was a child, but eight at best. 

Who went his way m a sea we shipped, 
All the while holding upon his breast 

A little pet parrot whose wings were clipped. 
And as the boy and the bird went by. 

Swinging away on a tall wave's crest. 
They were grappled by a man with a drowning cry. 

And together the three went down to rest. 

" And so the crew went one by one. 

Some with gladness, and few with fear ; 
Cold and hardship such work had done 

That few seemed frightened when death was near. 
Thus every soul on board went down — 

Sailor and passenger, little and great ; 
The last that sank was a man of my town, 

A capital swimmer — the second mate." 

" Now, lonely Fisherman, who are you. 

That say you saw this terrible wreck ? 
How do I know what you say is true. 

When every mortal was swept from the deck? 
Where were you in that hour of death ? 

How do you know what you relate ?" 
His answer came in an under-breath — 

" Master, I was the second mate !" 



123 



ELOCUTION. 
124 

XXIII. 

THE SKY-LARK, 

JAMES HOGG. 

Bird of the wilderness, 
Blithesome and cumberless, 

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 
Emblem of happiness, 
Blest is thy dwelling-place, 

Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 
Wild is thy lay, and loud, 
Far in the downy cloud, 

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth, 
Where, on thy dewy wing, 
Where art thou journeying ? 

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 

O'er fell and fountain sheen. 
O'er moor and mountain green. 

O'er the red streamers that herald the day, 
Over the cloudlet dim, 
Over the rainbow's rim. 

Musical cherub, soar, singing away ! 

Then, when the gloaming comes, 
Low in the heather blooms, 

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 
Emblem of happiness. 
Blest is thy dwelling-place — 

Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 



XXIV. 

DISCIPLINE. 

Look at that noble vessel on yon high sea. She has sprung a 
leak ; all the resources on board have been called into play for 
her release from the deep, but to no avail. The waters are 
gaining fast on her — beyond human control — she must sink ! 
A regiment of brave, perfectly disciplined soldiers are mustered 
on deck by a quick roll of the drum ; officers and soldiers 



SELECTIONS. j - C 

promptly fill their rank and file, and shoulder arms. See them 
standing in serried ranks, and completely accoutered for a long, 
long march. Not a mournful dirge, but the national anthem is 
played by the band. The regimental colors flutter in the air. 
The staff that supports them is as firm as the stout heart of the 
ensign that holds it. The array of battle is reflected in mourn- 
ful appearance on the lowering clouds, which seem anxious to 
veil the waters rippled with the breath of death. Insidiously 
does the water leap at last over the bulwarks of the gallant and 
doomed ship, and down, down she goes. The martial voice of 
the commandant orders, ''''Present^ ar77is T A rapid succession 
of orders is calmly given, and calmly executed; the drums beat 
quicker and quicker ; the muskets thump on deck at the last 
word of command, a splash at their fall, a surge of the invading 
waters, the drum is silenced, an army of bubbles swarms on the 
surface, and calm and silent and steady the last glare of the 
polished steel reflects a dying ray of mournful light. There is 
discipline for you 



XX V . 

THE TOWN OF PASSAGE — FATHER PROUT. 

FRANCIS MAHONY. 

The town of Passage Cross o'er the ferry 

Is both large and spacious, To *' Carrigaloe," 

And situated On the other side. 

Upon the say ; 

'Tis nate and dacent Mud cabins swarm in 

And quite adjacent This place so charming, 

To come from Cork And sailors' garments 

On a summer's day. Hung out to dry ; 

There you may slip in, And each abode is 

To take a dipping, Snug and commodious, 

Forenent the shipping With pigs melodious 

That at anchor ride ; In the straw-built sty. 

Or in a wherry T is there the turf is, 



126 



ELOCUTION. 



And lots of murphies, 
Dead sprats and and herrings 

And oyster-shells ; 
Nor any lack, O ! 
Of good tobacco — 
Though what is smuggled 

By far excels. 

There are ships from Cadiz, 
And from Barbadoes — 
But the leading trade is 

In whiskey-punch ; 
And you may go in 
Where one, Molly Bowen, 
Keeps a nate hotel. 

For a quiet lunch. 
But land or deck on 
You may safely reckon, 
Whatsoever country 

You come hither from — 
On an invitation 



To a jollification 
With a parish priest 

That's called " Father Tom.' 

Of ships there's one fixed 
For lodging convicts — 
A floating " stone jug" 

Of amazing bulk ; 
The hake and salmon, 
Playing at back gammon, 
Swim for divarsion 

All round this hulk. 
There "Saxon" jailors 
Keep brave repailers 
Who soon with sailors 

Must anchor weigh — 
From th' Em'rald Island 
Ne'er to see dry land 
Until they spy land 
In sweet Bot'ny Bay. 



THE " PROFESSOR OF SIGNS ; OR, TWO WAYS 
TELLING A STORY." 



OF 



When James VI. removed to London he was waited on by the 
Spanish Ambassador who had a crotchet in his head that there 
should be a Professor of Signs in every kingdom. 

He lamented to the King one day that no country in Europe 
had such a Professor, and that even for himself he was thus de- 
prived of the pleasure of communicating his ideas in that man- 
ner. The King replied : 

" Why, I have a Professor of Signs in the northernmost Col- 
lege of my dominion, at Aberdeen, but it is a great way off, per- 
haps six hundred miles." 

" \Vere it ten thousand leagues off, I shall see him, and am 
determined to set out in two or three days." 

The King saw he had committed himself, and wrote to the 



SELECTIONS. . _. 

University of Aberdeen, stating the case, and asking the Pro- 
fessors to put him off in some way, or make the best of him. 

The Ambassador arrived — was received with great solemn- 
ity, and soon inquired which of them had the honor to be Pro- 
fessor of Signs. He was told the Professor was absent in thfc 
Highlands, and would return nobody could tell when. 

" I will await his return though it be a year." 

Seeing that this would not do, as they had to entertain him 
at great expense, they contrived a stratagem. 

There was one Sandy, a butcher, blind in one eye, a droll 
fellow, with some wit and roguery about him. They told him 
the story, instructed him to be a Professor of Signs ; but not to 
speak a word under pain of losing the promised five pounds for 
his success. 

To the great joy of the Ambassador, he was informed that 
the Professor would be home the next day. 

Sandy was dressed in a wig and gown, and placed in a Chair 
of State in one of the college halls. The Ambassador was 
conducted to Sandy's door and shown in, while all the Profes- 
sors waited in another room in suspense and with anxiety for 
the success of their scheme. 

The Ambassador approached Sandy and held up one finger, 
Sandy held up two ; the Ambassador held up three, Sandy 
clenched his fist and looked stern. The Ambassador then took 
an orange from his pocket and held it up, Sandy took a barley- 
cake from his pocket and held that. The Ambassador then 
bowed and returned to the other Professors, who anxiously in- 
quired the result. 

" He is a wonderful man, a perfect miracle of knowledge ; he 
is worth all the wealth of the Indies." 

"Well," inquired the Professors, "tell us the particulars." 

"Why," the Ambassador replied, "I held up one finger, de- 
noting there is one God ; he held up two, signifying that there 
are Father and Son. I held up three to indicate the Holy 
Trinity ; he clenched his fist to show that these three are one. 
I then showed him an orange, to illustrate the goodness of God 
in giving to his creatures the luxuries as well as the necessaries 
of life ; and this most wonderful philosopher presented a piece 



o ELOCUTION. 

of bread to show that the staff of life is preferable to every 
luxury." 

The Professors were, of course, highly delighted, and the 
Ambassador departed for London to thank the King for the 
honor of knowing a Professor of Signs. 

The Professors then called upon Sandy to give his version of 
the interview. 

"The rascal!" said Sandy. "What do you think he did 
first ? He held up one finger, as much as to say, you have only 
one eye. Then I held up two, to show that I could see as much 
with one as he could with two. And then the fellow held up 
three fingers, to say that we had but three eyes between us. 
That made me mad, and I doubled up my fist to give him a 
whack for his impudence, and I would have done it but for my 
promise to you not to offend him. Yet that was not the end 
of his provocations ; but he showed me an orange, as much as 
to say, your poor, rocky, beggarly, cold country can not pro- 
duce that. I showed him an oatmeal bannock that I had in 
my pocket, to let him know that I did na' care a farthing for 
all his trash, and signs neither, sae lung as I hae this. And, 
by all that's guid, I'm angry yet that I did not thrash the hide 
off the scoundrel." 

So much for two ways of understanding a thing. 



THE DEMON OF THE FIRE. 

CHAS. D. GARDETTE. 

In the deepest depth of midnight, while the sad and solemn sweU 

Still was floating, faintly echoed from the forest chapel bell — 

Faintly, falteringly floating o'er the sable waves of air 

That were through the midnight rolling, chafed and billoMywith thetolling- 

In my chamber I lay dreaming, by the fire-light's fitfid gleaming, 

And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart foredoomed to care. 

As the last, long, lingering echo of the midnight's mystic chime. 
Lifting through the sable billows of the thither shore of Time — 



SELECTIONS. 



129 



Leaving on the startless silence not a token nor a trace — 
In a quivering sigh departed : from my couch m fear I started ; 
Started to my feet in terror, for my dream's phantasmal error 
Painted in the fitful fire a frightful, fiendish, flaming face ! 

On the red hearth's reddest center from a blazing knot of oak, 
Seemed to gibe and grin this phantom when m terror I awoke, 
And my slumberous eyelids straining, as I staggered to the floor. 
Still in that dread vision seeming, turned my gaze toward the gleaming 
Hearth, and there ! — O God ! I saw it ; and from its flaming jaw it 
Spat a ceaseless, seething, hissing, bubbling, gurgling stream of gore ! 

Speechless, struck with stony silence, frozen to the floor I stood, 

Till methought my brain was hissing with that hissing, bubbling blood ; 

Till I felt my life-stream oozing from those lambent lips ; 

Till the demon seemed to name me — then a wondrous calm came o'er me ; 

And my brow grew cold and dewy, with a death damp stiff and gluey ; 

And I fell back on my pillow, in apparent soul eclipse. 

Then as in death's seeming shadow, in the icy fall of fear 
I lay, stricken, came a hoarse and hideous murmur to my ear ; 
Came a murmur like the murmur of assassins in their sleep — 
Muttering, '"' Higher ! higher ! higher ! I am demon of the Fire ! 
I am Arch-Fiend of the Fire, and each blazing roof 's my pyre, 
And my sweetest incense is the blood and tears my victims weep ! 

" How I revel on the prairie ! how I roar among the pines ! 

How I laugh when from the village o'er the snow the red flame shines, 

And I hear the shrieks of terror, with a life in every breath ! 

How I scream with lambent laughter, as I hurl each crackling rafter 

DoAvn the fell abyss of fire — until higher! higher ! higher ! 

Leap the high priests of my altar, in their merry dance of death ! 

"I am Monarch of the Fire ' I am Vassal King of Death ! 
World enriching, with the shadow of its doom upon my breath ! 
With the symbol of Hereafter flaming from my fatal face ! 
I command the Eternal Fire ! Higher ! higher ! higher ! higher ! 
Leap my ministering demons, like phantasmagoric lemans 
Hugging Universal Nature in their hideous embrace !" 

Then a sombre silence shut me in a solemn, shrouding sleep. 

And I slumbered like an infant in the " cradle of the deep," 

Till the belfry in the forest quivered with the matin stroke. 

And the martins, from the edges of the lichen-lidded lodges, 

Shimmered through the russet arches, where the light in torn files marches 

Like a routed army struggling through the serried ranks of oak. 



J ^Q ELOCUTION. 

Through my ivy-fretted casements, filtered in a tremulous note, 
From the tall and stately linden, where the robin swelled his throat - 
Querulous, quaker-breasted robin, calling quaintly for his mate ! 
Then I started up unbidden from my slumber, night-mare ridden. 
With the memory of that dire demon in my central fire, 
On my eye's interior mirror like the shadow of a fate ! 

Ah ! the fiendish fire had smouldered to a white and formless heap, 
And no knot of oak was flaming as it flamed upon my sleep ; 
But around its very center, where the demon face had shone, 
Forked shadows seemed to linger, pointing, as with spectral finger, 
To a Bible, massive, golden, on a table carved and olden : 
And I bowed and said, •' All power is of God — of God alone !" 



LOVE AND LATIN. 

"Apio, Amare, Amavi, Ajnahtm." 

Dear girls, never marry for knowledge, 

(Though that, of course, should form a part,) 
For often the head, while at college. 

Gets wise at the cost of the heart. 
Let me tell you a fact that is real — 

I once had a beau, in my youth, 
My brightest and best " beau ideal" 

Of manliness, goodness, and truth. 

Oh, he talked of the Greeks and the Romans, 

Of Normans, and Saxons, and Celt ; 
And he quoted from Virgil and Homer, 

And Plato, and — somebody else. 
And he told his deathless aff'ection. 

By means of a thousand strange herbs, 
With numberless words in connection, 

Derived from the roots — of Greek verbs. 

One night, as a slight innuendo, 
When nature was mantled in snov/. 

He wrote in the frost on the window, 
A sweet word in Latin — anw." 

Oh, it needed no words for expression, 
For that I had long understood ; 



SELECTIONS. 

But there was bis written confession — 
Present tense and indicative mood. 

But oh, how man's passion will vary ! 

For scarcely a year had passed by, 
When he changed the " amo" to " amare^^ 

But instead of an 'V" was a ''jj/." 
Yes, a Mary had certainly taken 

The heart once so fondly my OAvn, 
And I, the rejected, forsaken. 

Was left to reflection alone. 

Since then I've a horror of Latin, 

And students uncommonly smart ; 
True love, one should always put that in, 

To balance the head by the heart. 
To be a fine scholar and linguist. 

Is much to one's credit, I know, 
But '• / love^ should be said in plain English, 

And not with a Latin " amoy 



131 



THE SCULPTOR BOY. 

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor boy. 

With his marble block before him ; — 
And his face lit up with a smile of joy 

As an angel dream passed o'er him. 
He carv^ed that dream on the yielding stone 

With many a sharp incision ; 
In heaven's own light the sculptor shone, 

He had caught that angel vision. 

Sculptors of life are we, as we stand 

With our lives uncarved before us. 
Waiting the hour, when, at God's command, 

Our life dream passes o'er us. 
Let us carve it, then, on the yielding stone 

With many a sharp incision ; — 
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own, — 

Our lives, that angel vision. 



J ^2 ELOCUTION 

XXX. 

" BLESSED IS THE MAN WHOM THOU CHASTENEST.' 

SIR RICHARD GRANT. 

Saviour, whose mercy, severe in its kindness, 

Has chastened my wanderings and guided my way, 
Adored be the power that illumined my blmdness, 
And weaned me from phantoms that smiled to betray. 

Enchanted with all that was dazzlmg and fair, 

I followed the rainbow, I caught at the toy ; 
And still in displeasure thy goodness was there, 

Disappointing the hope, and defeating the joy. 

The blossom blushed bright, but a worm was below ; 

The moonlight shone fair, there was blight in the beam ; 
Swe&t whispered the breeze, but it whispered of woe. 

And bitterness flowed m the soft flowing stream. 

So, cured of my folly, yet cured but in part, 

I turned to the refuge thy pity displayed ; 
And still did this eager and credulous heart 

Weave visions of promise that bloomed but to fade, 

1 thought that the course of the pilgrim to heaven 
Would be bright as the summer, and glad as the morn ; 

Thou show'dst me the path, — it was dark and uneven, 
All rugged with rock and tangled with thorn. 

I dreamed of celestial reward and renown, 

I grasped at the triumph that blesses the brave, 

I asked for the palm-branch, the robe, and the crown, — 
I asked, — and thou show'dst me a cross and a grave. 

Subdued and instructed, at length, to thy will. 
My hopes and my longings I fain would resign ; 

Oh give me the heart that can wait and be still. 
Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine. 

There are mansions exempted from sin and from woe. 

But they stand in a region by mortals untrod ; 
There are rivers of joy, but they flow not below ; 

There is rest, but it dwells in the presence of God. 



SELECTIONS. ^ ^ ^ 

^33 



THE FRENCHMAN AND THE FLEA POWDER. 

ORIGINAL VERSION — BY PROF. RAYMOND 

A Frenchman once — so runs a certain ditty — 

Had crossed the Straits to famous London city, 

To get a living by the arts of France, 

And teach his neighbor, rough John Bull, to dance. 

But, lacking pupils, vain was all his skill ; 

His fortunes sank from low to lower still. 

Until at last, pathetic to relate. 

Poor Monsieur landed at starvation's gate. 

Standing, one day, at a cook-shop door, 

And gazing in with aggravation sore, 

He mused within himself what he should do 

To fill his empty maw, and pocket too. 

By nature shrewd, he soon contrived a plan. 

And thus to execute it straight began. 

A piece of common brick he quickly found, 

And with a harder stone to powder ground. 

Then wrapped the dust in many a dainty piece 

Of paper, labeled " Poison for de Fleas," 

And sallied forth, his roguish trick to try, 

To show his treasures, and see who'd buy. 

From street to street he cried, with lusty yell, 

" Here's grand and sovereign flea poudare to sell." 

And fickle fortune seemed to smile at last, 

For soon a woman hailed him as he passed, 

Struck a quick bargain with him for the lot, 

And made him five crowns richer on the spot. 

Our wight, encouraged by this ready sale. 

Went into business on a larger scale, 

And soon throughout all London scattered he 

The '* only genuine poudare for de flea." 

Engaged one morning in his new vocation 

Of mingled boasting and dissimulation, 

He thought he heard himself in anger called ; 

And sure enough the self-same woman brawled, 

In not a very mild or tender mood. 

From the same window where before she stood. 

" Hey, there !" said she, "you Monsher Powder-man ; 

Escape my clutches now, sir, if you can ! 

I'll let you dirty, thieving Frenchmen know, 



134 



ELOCUTION. 

That decent people won't be cheated so. 

How dare you tell me that your worthless stuft' 

Would make my bedsteads clean and clear enough 

Of bugs ? I've rubbed those bedsteads o'er and o'er. 

And now the plagues are thicker than before !" 

Then spoke Monsieur, and heaved a saintly sigh, 

"With humble attitude and tearful eye, 

" Ah, madam ! s'il vous plait, attendez-vous — 

I vill dis leetle ting explain to you. 

My poudare gran'! magnifique ' why abuse him? 

Aha ! I show you, Madam, how to use him. 

You must not spread him in large quantity 

Upon de bedstead — no ! dat's not de vay. 

First, you must wait until you catch de flea ; 

Den, tickle he on de petite rib, you see ; 

And when he laugh — aha ! he ope his throat ; 

YiQx\.poke de poudare dowjz ! — Begar ! he choke ! !*' 



SHAKESPEARE'S SEVEN AGES OF MAN. 

All the world's a stage. 
And all the men and women merely players : 
They have their exits and their entrances ; 
And one man, in his time, plays many parts, — 
His Acts being seven ages. At first, the Infant 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 
Then the whining Schoolboy, with his satchel 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school : And then the Lover, 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow : Then a Soldier, 
Full of strange oaths and bearded like a pard ; 
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble Reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth : And then the Justice, 
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd ; 
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances, — 
And so he plays his part : The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd Pantaloon, 



SELECTIONS. j^r 

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side ; 
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank : and his big, manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange, eventful history, 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion ; 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans — everything. 



X X X 1 1 r. 



OPPOSITE EXAMPLES. 



I ask the young man who is just forming his habits of life, or 
just beginning to indulge those habitual trains of thought out of 
which habits grow, to look around him, and mark the examples 
whose fortunes he would covet, or whose fate he would abhor. 
Even as we walk the streets, we meet with examples of each ex- 
treme. Here, behold the patriarch, whose stock of vigor three- 
score years and ten seems scarcely to have impaired. His erect 
form, his firm step, his elastic limbs, and undimmed senses, are 
so many certificates of good conduct; or, rather, so many jew- 
els and orders of nobility with which nature has honored him 
for his fidelity to her laws. His fair complexion shows that his 
blood has never been corrupted ; his pure health that he never 
yielded his digestive apparatus to abuse ; his exact language 
and keen apprehension, that his brain has never been drugged 
or stupified by the poisons of distiller or tobacconist. Enjoy- 
ing his appetites to the highest, he has preserved the power of 
enjoying them. As he drains the cup of life, there are no lees 
at the bottom. His organs will reach the goal of existence to- 
gether. Painlessly as the candle burns down in its socket, so 
will he expire ; and a little imagination would convert him into 
another Enoch, translated from earth to a better world without 
the sting of death. 

But look at an opposite extreme, where an opposite history 



jo^ ELOCUTION. 

is recorded. What wreck so shocking to behold as the wreck 
of a dissolute man ; — the vigor of life exhausted, and yet the 
first steps in an honorable career not taken; in himself a lazar- 
house of diseases; dead, but, by a heathenish custon of so- 
ciety, not buried ! Rogues have had the initial letter of their 
title burnt into the palms of their hands ; even for murder 
Cain was only branded on the forhead ; but over the whole 
person of the debauchee or the inebriate, the signatures of in- 
famy are written. How nature brands him with stigma and 
opprobrium ! How she hangs labels all over him, to testify her 
disgust at his existence, and to admonish others to beware of 
his example } How she loosens all his joints, sends tremors 
along his muscles, and bends forward his frame, as if to bring 
him on all fours with kindred brutes, or to degrade him to the 
reptile's crawling ! How she disfigures his countenance, as if 
intent upon obliterating all traces of her own image, so that she 
may swear that she never made him ! How she pours rheum 
over his eyes, sends foul spirits to inhabit his breath, and 
shrieks, as with a trumpet, from every pore of his body, " Be- 
hold A Beast!" Such a man may be seen In the streets o 
our cities every day; if rich enough, he may be found in the 
saloons, and at the tables of the " Upper Ten ;" but surely, to 
every man of purity and honor, to every man whose heart is 
unblemished, the wretch who comes cropped and bleeding from 
the pillory, and redolent with the appropriate perfumes, would 
be a guest or a companion far less offensive and disgusting. 

Now let the young man, rejoicing in his manly proportions, 
and in his comeliness, look on this picture, and then on this, 
and then say, after the likeness of which model he intends his 
own erect stature and sublime countenance shall be confisrured. 



X XXI v . 

THE POLISH BOY. 

MRS. ANN. S. STEPHENS 

Whence came those shrieks, so wild and shrill, 
That like an arrow cleave the air, 



SEL"ECT10NS. , ^ ^ 

Causing the blood to creep and thrill 

With such sharp cadence of despair ? 
Once more they come ! as if a heart 

Were cleft in twain by one quick blo-\v, 
And every string had voice apart 

To utter its peculiar woe ! 

Whence came they ? From yon temple, where 

An altar raised for private prayer 
Now forms the warrior's marble bed, 

Who Warsaw's gallant armies led. 
The dim funereal tapers throw 

A holy lustre o'er liis brow, 
And burnish with their rays of light 

The mass of curls that gather bright 
Above the haughty brow and eye 

Of a young boy that's kneeling by. 

What hand is that whose icy press 

Clings to the dead with death's own grasp, 
But meets no answering caress — 

No thrilling fingers seek its clasp ? 
It is the hand of her whose cry 

Rang wildly late upon the air, 
AVhen the dead warrior met her eye, 

Outstretched upon the altar there. 

Now with white lips and broken moan 

She sinks beside the altar stone ; 

But hark ! the heavy tramp of feet. 

Is heard along the gloomy street ; 

Nearer and nearer yet they come, 

With clanking arms and noiseless drum. 

They leave the pavement. Flowers that spread 

Their beauties by the path they tread 

Are crushed and broken. Crimson hands 

Rend brutally their blooming bands. 

Now whispered curses, low and deep, 

Around tKe holy temple creep. 

The gate is burst. A ruffian band 

Rush in and saVagely demand, 

With brutal voice and oath profane, 

The startled boy for exile's chain. 

The mother sprang with gesture wild, 
And to her bosom snatched the child : 



138 



ELOCUTION. 

Then with pale cheek and flashing eye, 

Shouted with fearful energy, — 

" Back, ruffians, back ! nor dare to tread 

Too near the body of my dead I 

Nor touch the living boy — I stand 

Between him and your lawless band ! 

No traitor he — but listen ! I 

Have cursed your master's tyranny. 

I cheered my lord to join the band 

Of those who swore to free our land. 

Or fighting, die ; and when he pressed 

Me for the last time to his breast, 

I knew that soon his form would be 

Low as it is, or Poland free. 

He went and grappled with the foe, 

Laid many a haughty Russian low ; 

But he is dead — the good — the brave — 

And I, his wife, am worse — a slave ! 

Take me, and bind these arms, these hands, 

"With Russia's heaviest iron bands, 

And drag me to Siberia's wild 

To perish, if 'twill save my child !" 

" Peace, woman, peace !" the leader cried, 
Tearing the pale boy from her side ; 
And in his ruffian grasp he bore 
His victim to the temple door. 

" One moment !" shrieked the mother, " one ; 
Can land or gold redeem my son ? 
If so, I bend my Polish knee, 
And, Russia, ask a boon of thee. 
Take palaces, take lands, take all, 
But leave him free from Russian thrall. 
Take these," and her white arms and hands 
She stripped of rings and diamond bands. 
And tore from braids of long black hair 
The gems that gleamed like star-light there j 
Unclasped the brilliant coronal 
And carcanet of orient pearl ; 
Her cross of blazing rubies last 
Down to the Russian's feet she cast. 

He stooped to seize the glittering store ; 
Upspringing from the marble floor ; 
The mother, with a cry of joy, 



SELLCTIONS. t o^ 

Snatched to her leaping heart the boy ! 
But no — the Russian's iron grasp 
Again undid the mother's clasp. 
Forward she fell, with one long cry 
Of more than mother's agony. 

But the brave child is roused at length, 
And breaking from the Russian's hold, 
He stands, a giant in the strength 
Of his young spirit, fierce and bold. 

Proudly he towers, his flashing eye, 
So blue and fiercely bright. 
Seems lighted from the eternal sky. 
So brilliant is its light. 
His curling lips and crimson cheeks 
Foretell the thought before he speaks. 
With a full voice of proud command 
He turns upon the wondering band. 

" Ye hold me not ! no, no, nor can ; 
This hour has made the boy a man. 
The world shall witness that one soul 
Fears not to prove itself a Pole. 

I knelt beside my slaughtered sire. 

Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire; 

I wept upon his marble brow — 

Yes, wept — I was a child ; but now 

My noble mother on her knee. 

Has done the work of years for me. 

iVlthough in this small tenement 

My soul is cramped — unbowed, unbent, 

Pve still within me ample power 

To free myself this very hour. 

This dagger in my heart ! and then, 

Where is your boasted power, base men :" 

He drew aside his broidered vest, 

And there, like slumbering serpent's crest, 

The jewelled haft of a poniard bright. 

Glittered a moment on the sight. 

" Ha ! start ye back? Fool ! coward ! knave ! 

Think ye my noble father's glave. 

Could drink the life blood of a slave ? 

The pearls that on the handle flame. 

Would blush to rubies in their shame. ^-i^ 



I40 



ELOCUTION. 

The blade would quiver in thy breast, 
Ashamed of su-ch ignoble rest ! 
No ; thus I rend thy tyrant's chain, 
And fling him back a boy's disdain !" 

A moment, and the funeral light 
Flashed on the jewelled weapon bright ; 
Another, and his young heart's blood 
Leaped to the floor a crimson flood. 
Quick to his mother's side he sprang, 
And on the air his clear voice rang — ■ 
" Up, mother, up ! I'm free ! I'm free ! 
The choice was death or slavery ; 
Up ! mother, up ! look on my face 
I only wait for thy embrace. 
One last, last word — a blessing, one, 
To prove thou knowest what I have done, 
No look ! No word ! Canst thou not feel 
My warm blood o'er thy heart congeal ? 
Speak, mother, speak — lift up thy head. 
What, silent still ? Then art thou dead ! 
Great God, I thank thee ! Mother, I 
Rejoice with thee, and thus to die." 
Slowly he falls. The clustering hair 
Rolls back and leaves that forehead bare. 
One long, deep breath, and his pale head 
Lay on his mother's bosom, dead. 



DARE AND DO. 

Upward, — onward ' Fellow workmen ! 

Ours the battle-field of life ; 
Ne'er a foot to foeman yielding, 

Pressing closer midst the strife ! 
Forward ! in the strength of manhood, — 

Forward ! in the fire of youth, — 
Aim at something ; ne'er surrender, — 

Arm thee in the mail of truth ! 

Though thy way be strewn with dangers, 

Summer rain-drops lay the dust ; 
Faith and hope are two-edged weapons 



SELECTIONS. 



Which will ne'er belie thy trust. 
Shrink not, though a host surround thee, — 

Onward ! Duty's path pursue ; 
All who gild the page of story, 

Know the brave words — Dare and do ! 

Miller was a rough stone-mason ; 

Shakespeare, Goldsmith, Keats, and Hood, 
Franklin, Jerrold, Burns, and Giftbrd, 

Had to toil as we, for food. 
Yes : these men with minds majestic, 

Sprang from ranks the rich call poor, 
Cast a halo round brown labor, — 

Had to wrestle, fight, endure. 

Forward, then ! bright eyes are beaming ; 

Fight, nor lose the conqueror's crown ! 
Stretch thy right hand, seize thy birthright, 

Take it, wear it, 'tis thine own ! 
Slay the giants which beset thee, 

Rise to manhood, glory, fame ; 
Take thy pen, and in the volume 

Of the gifted write thy name ! 



THE PERSONAL CHARACTER OF ABRAHAM 
LINCOLN. 

REV. C. H. FOWLER — APRIL, 1S65. 

I Stand to-day in the shadow of the coffin of Abraham Lin- 
coln. What best can I say concerning his character.? The 
analysis of his character is difficult on account of its symmetry ; 
its comprehension is impossible, on account of its greatness. 
The foundation upon which this character was built was his 
moral sense, coming out in absolute truthfulness. This gave 
him marvelous moral uprightness, kept him unseduced by the 
temptations of his profession, untainted by the corruptions of 
pohtics, and unblamable in public administration. The ruling, 
all-controlling characteristic of his mind was his accurate, mas- 
sive, iron-armed reason. Every element of his being, even his 



J ^2 ELOCUTION. 

passion and compassion, and every act of his life was in most 
rigid submission to his moral sense and reason. He arrived at 
his conclusions not by intuition, but by argument. This made 
him appear slow in difficult questions, but it gave him all the 
certainty of logic. Once arrived at a decision, he could not be 
moved from it. His mental constitution and habits of thought 
underlaid his felt consciousness of honor. This made inevit- 
able that firmness which was more than equal to every emergen- 
cy, and which has so amazed the world. His imaginative and 
speculative faculties were of great native strength ; but they 
were so subjected to his reason that they only served to suggest 
causes of action in unprecedented difficulties, and illustrate by 
condensed, incarnated argument the correctness of his position. 
His caution, that might have been a fault, was balanced by the 
certainty of his reason, and produced only a wise prudence. 
His whole character was rounded out into remarkable practical 
common sense. Thus his moral sense, his reason, and his com- 
mon sense were the three fixed points through which the perfect 
circle of his character was drawn, the sacred trinity of his great 
manhood. He incarnated the ideal Republic, and was the liv- 
ing personification of the divine idea of free government. No 
other man ever so fully realized the people's idea of a ruler. 
He was our President — the great Commander. The classics 
of the schools might have . polished him, but they would have 
separated him from us. A child of the people, he was as ac- 
cessible in the splendors of the White House as in the lowly 
cabin. He stands before us as no man ever stood, the embodi- 
ment of the people. Coming among us. President in troublous 
times, the grasp, the accuracy, the activity of his intellect soon 
placed him at the head of the world's statesmen. He rallied 
about him the strong men of the land and showed them he was 
their master. Everywhere he controlled men according to his 
purpose. Once arrived at a decision he was there forever. He 
was firm because he knew he was right. He put men up or 
down regardless of their popularity. Congress had always de- 
ferred to his judgment, and the end in every event justified his 
decisions. As a statesman he was without a peer in the world 
or in history. 



SELECTIONS. -. .^ 

His goodness is said to have made him weak. It was the 
highest exhibition of his strength. He was mercy mailed in 
justice. He was the most magnanimous man of the time. 
Yesterday he said of inevitable defeat, " I am responsible." 
To-day he said of triumph, " The glory is not mine." He was 
the noblest man that ever came in the tide of time. 



XXXVII. 

THE AMERICAN UNION. 

KOSSUTH. 

He who sows the wind will reap the storm. History is the 
revelation of Providence. The Almighty rules, by eternal laws, 
not only the material but the moral world ; and every law is a 
principle, and every principle is a law. Men, as well as nations, 
are endowed with free will to choose a principle, but that once 
chosen, the consequences must be abided. With self-govern- 
ment is freedom, and with freedom is justice and patriotism. 
With centralization is ambition, and with ambition dwells des- 
potism. Happy your great country, sir, for being so warmly 
addicted to that great principle of self-government. Upon this 
foundation your fathers raised a home to freedom more glori- 
ous than the world has ever seen. Upon this foundation you 
have developed it to a living wonder of the world. Happy your 
great country, sir, that it was selected, by the blessing of the 
Lord, to prove the glorious practicability of a federative union 
of many sovereign states, all conserving their state .rights and 
their self-government, and yet united in one — every star beam- 
ing with its own lustre, but altogether one constellation on man- 
kind's canopy. 

Upon this foundation your free country has grown to a pro- 
digious power in a surprisingly brief period. You have attracted 
power, in that your fundamental principles have conquered 
more in seventy-five years than Rome by arms in centuries. 
Your principles will conquer the world. By the glorious ex- 



T . . ELOCUTION. 

144 

ample of your freedom, welfare, and security, mankind is about 
to become conscious of its aim. The lesson you give to hu- 
manity will not be lost ; and the respect of the state rights in 
the federal government of America, and in its several states, 
will become an instructive example for universal toleration, for- 
bearance, and justice, to the future states and republics of 
Europe. Upon this basis will be got rid of the mysterious ques- 
tion of language and nationalities, raised by the cunning des- 
potisms in Europe to murder liberty ; and the smaller states will 
find security in the principles of federative union, while they 
will conserve their national freedom by the principles of sover- 
eign self-government; and while larger states, abdicating the 
principle of centralization, will cease to be a blood-field to 
sanguinary usurpation, and a tool to the ambition of wicked 
men, municipal institutions will insure the development of local 
particular elements. Freedom, formerly an abstract political 
theory, will become the household benefit to municipalities ; 
and out of the welfare and contentment of all parts will flow 
happiness, peace, and security of the whole. That is my con- 
fident hope. Then will at once subside the fluctuations of 
Germany's fate. 



XXXVIII. 

A VERY IMPORTANT PROCEEDING, — MR. 
PICKWICK. 



Mr. Pickwick's apartments in Goswell street, although on a 
limited scale, were not only of a very neat and comfortable de- 
scription, but peculiarly adapted for the residence of a man of 
his genius and observation. His sitting-room was the first floor 
front, his bed-room was the second floor front ; and thus, 
whether he was sitting at his desk in the parlor, or standing be- 
fore the dressing-glass in his dormitory, he had an equal op- 
portunity of contemplating human nature in all the numerous 
phases it exhibits, in that not more populous than popular 



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H5 

thoroughfare. His landlady, Mrs. Bardell — the relict and sole 
executrix of a deceased custom-house officer — was a comely 
woman of bustling manners and agreeable appearance, with a 
natural genius for cooking, improved by study and long prac- 
tice into an exquisite talent. There were no children, no ser- 
vants, no fowls. The only other inmates of the house were a 
large man and a small boy ; the first a lodger, the second a pro- 
duction of Mrs. Bardell's. The large man was always at home 
precisely at ten o'clock at night, at which hour he regularly 
condensed himself into the limits of a dwarfish French bedstead 
in the back parlor; and the infantine sports and gymnastic 
exercises of Master Bardell were exclusively confined to the 
neighboring pavements and gutters. Cleanliness and quiet 
reigned throughout the house ; and in it Mr. Pickwick's will was 
law. 

To any one acquainted with these points of the domestic 
economy of the establishment, and conversant with the admir- 
able regulation of Mr. Pickwick's mind, his appearance and be- 
havior on the morning previous to that which had been fixed 
upon for the journey to Eatanswill, would have been most mys- 
terious and unaccountable. He paced the room to and fro 
with hurried steps, popped his head out of the window at inter- 
vals of about three minutes each, constantly referred to his 
watch, and exhibited many other manifestations of impatience, 
very unusual with him. It was evident that something of great 
importance was in contemplation, but what that something was, 
not even Mrs. Bardell herself had been enabled to discover. 

" Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick, at last, as that amiable 
female approached the termination of a prolonged dusting of 
the apartment. 

"Sir," said Mrs. Bardell. 

" Your little boy is a very long time gone." 

"Why, it is a good long way to the Borough, sir," reniun- 
strated Mrs. Bardell. 

" Ah," said Mr. Pickwick, "very true; so it is." 

Mr. Pickwick relapsed into silence, and ]Mrs. Bardell resumed 
her dusting, 



J ^5 ELOCUTION. 

'' Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration of a few 
minutes. 

" Sir," said Mrs. Bardell again. 

"Do you think it's a much greater expense to keep two 
people, than to keep one.'*" 

" La, Mr. Pickwick," said Mrs. Bardell, coloring up to the very 
border of her cap, as she fancied she observed a species of matri- 
monial twinkle in the eyes of her lodger; "La, Mr. Pickwick, 
what a question !" 

" Well, but do you ?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
"That depends" — said Mrs. Bardell, approaching the duster 
very near to Mr. Pickwick's elbow, which was planted on the 
table ; " that depends a good deal upon the person, you know, 
Mr. Pickwick; and whether it's a saving and careful person, sir." 
" That's very true," said Mr. Pickwick, " but the person I have 
in my eye (here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think 
possesses these qualities ; and has, moreover, a considerable 
knowledge of the world, and a great deal of sharpness, Mrs. 
Bardell-; which may be of material use to me." 

"La, Mr. Pickwick," said Mrs. Bardell, the crimson rising to 
her cap-border again. 

" I do," said Mr. Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his wont 
in speaking of a subject which interested him, " I do, indeed; 
and to tell you the truth, Mrs. Bardell, I have made up my 
mind." 

" Dear me, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Bardell. 

"You'll think it very strange now," said the amiable Mr. 
Pickwick, with a good-humored glance at his comi^anion, " that 
I never consulted you about this matter, and never even men- 
tioned it, till I sent your little boy out this morning — eh ?" 

Mrs. Bardell could only reply by a look. She had long wor- 
shiped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, but here she was, all at once, 
raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest and most extravagant 
hopes had never dared to aspire. Mr. Pickwick was going to 
propose — a deliberate plan, too — sent her little boy to the 
Borough; to get him out of the v/ay — how thoughtful — how 
considerate ! 

"Well," said Mr. Pickwick, "what do you think.?" 



SELECTIONS. ^ .^ 

" Oh, Mr. Pickwick," said Mrs. Bardell, trembling with agi- 
tation, "you're very kind, sir." 

"It'll save you a good deal of trouble, won't it.?" said Mr. 
Pickwick. 

" Oh, I never thought anything of the trouble, sir," replied 
Mrs. Bardell ; " and of course, I should take more trouble to 
please you then than ever ; but it is so kind of you, Mr. Pick- 
wick, to have so much consideration for my loneliness." 

"Ah to be sure," said Mr. Pickwick; "I never thought of 
that. When I am in town, you'll always have somebody to sit 
with you. To be sure, so you will." 

" I'm sure I ought to be a very happy woman," said Mrs. 
Bardell. 

"And your little boy — " said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Bless his heart," interposed Mrs. Bardell, with a maternal sob. 

" He, too, will have a companion," resumed Mr. Pickwick, " a 
lively one, who'll teach him, I'll be bound, more tricks in a week, 
than he would ever learn in a year." And Mr„ Pickwick smiled 
placidly. 

"Oh, you dear — ■" said Mrs. Bardell. 

Mr. Pickwick started. 

"Oh you kind, good, playful dear," said Mrs. Bardell; and 
without more ado she rose from her chair, and flung her arms 
round Mr. Pickwick's neck, with a cataract of tears, and a 
chorus of sobs. 

" Bless my soul," cried the astonished Mr. Pickwick ; — " Mrs. 
Bardell, my good woman — dear me, what a situation — pray 
consider, Mrs. Bardell, don't — if anybody should come — " 

"Oh, let them come," exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, frantically; 
" I'll never leave you — dear, kind, good soul ;" and, with these 
words, Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter. 

"Mercy upon me," said Mr. Pickwick, straggling violently, 
" I hear somebody coming up the stairs. Don't, don't, there's a 
good creature, don't." But entreaty and remonstrance were 
alike unavailing; for Mrs. Bardell had fainted in Mr. Pick- 
wick's arms ; and before he could gain time to deposit her on a 
chair, Master Bardell entered the room, ushering in Mr. Tup- 
man, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. 



.o ELOCUTION. 

Mr. Pickwick was struck motionless and speechless. He stood 
with his lovely burden in his arms, gazing vacantly on the coun- 
tenances of his friends, without the slightest attempt at recog- 
nition or explanation. They, in their turn, stared at him ; and 
Master Bardell, in his turn, stared at everybody. 

The astonishment of the Pickwickians was so absorbing, and 
the perplexity of Mr. Pickwick was so extreme, that they might 
have remained in exactly the same relative situations until the 
suspended animation of the lady was restored, had it not been 
for a most beautiful and touching expression of filial affec- 
on the part of her youthful son. Clad in a tight suit of 
corduroy, spangled with brass buttons of a very considerable 
size, he at first stood at the door astounded and uncertain ; but 
by degrees, the impression that his mother must have suffered 
some personal damage, pervaded his partially developed mind, 
and considering Mr. Pickwick the aggressor, he set up an ap- 
palling and semi-earthly kind of howling, and butting forward 
with his head, commenced assailing that immortal gentleman 
about the back and legs, with such blows and pinches as the 
strength of his arm, and the violence of his excitement al- 
lowed. 

" Take this little villain away," said the agonized Mr. Pick- 
wick, "he's mad." 

"What is the matter.?" said the three tongue-tied Pickwick- 
ians. 

" I don't know," replied Mr. Pickwick, pettishly. " Take away 
the boy — (here Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, scream- 
ing and struggling, to the farther end of the apartment.) Now 
help me to lead this woman down stairs." 

"Oh, I am better now," said Mrs. Bardell, faintly. 

" Let me lead you down stairs," said the ever gallant Mr. 
Tupman. 

" Thank you, sir — thank you ;" exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, hys- 
terically. And down stairs she was led acconlingly, ac- 
companied by her affectionate son. 

" I can not conceive" ^ — said Mr. Pickwick, when his friend re- 
turned — "I can not conceive what has been the matter with 
that woman. I had merely announced to her my intention of 



SELECTIONS. jj^ 

keeping a man-servant, when yhe fell into the extraordinary 
paroxysm in which you found her. Very extraordinary thing." 

'• Very," said his three friends. 

''Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation," con- 
tinued Mr. Pickwick. 

'"Very;" was the reply of his followers, as they coughed 
slightly, and looked dubiously at each other. 

This behavior was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He remarked 
their incredulity. They evidently suspected him. 

" There is a man in the passage, now," said Mr. Tupman. 

" It's the man that I spoke to you about," said 2^Ir. Pickwick. 
" I sent for him to the Borough this morning. Have the good- 
ness to call him up, Snodgrass." 



'^ETERNAL JUSTICE. 

CHARLES MACKAY. 

" The man is thought a knave or fool, 

Or bigot, plotting crime. 
Who, for the advancement of his kind, 

Is wiser than his time. 
For him the hemlock shall distil ; 

For him the axe be bared ; 
For him the gibbet shall be built ; 

For him the stake prepared : 
Him shall the scorn and wrath of men 

Pursue ^^ith deadly aim ; 
And malice, en\y, spite, and lies. 

Shall desecrate his name. 
But truth shall conquer at the last. 

For round and round we run. 
And ever the right comes uppermost. 

And ever is justice done. 

*' Pace through thy cell, old Socrates, 

Cheerily to and fro ; 
Trust to the impulse of thy soul 



15° 



ELOCUTION. 

And let the poison flov^. 
They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay 

That holds a light divine, 
But they can not quench the fire of thought 

By any such deadly wine ; 
They can not blot thy spoken words 

From the memory of man, 
By all the poison ever was brewed 

Since time its course began. 
To-day abhorred, to-morrow adored, 

So round and round we run, 
And ever the truth comes uppermost, 

And ever is justice done. 

" Plod in thy cave, gray Anchorite ; 

Be wiser than thy peers : 
Augment the range of human power 

And trust to coming years. 
They may call thee wizard, and monk accursed,. 

And load thee with dispraise : 
Thou wert born five hundred years too soon 

For the comfort of thy days : 
But not too soon for human kind : 

Time hath reward in store ; 
And the demons of our sires become 

The saints that we adore. 
The blind can see, the slave is lord ; 

So round and round we run ; 
And ever the wrong is proved to be wrong, 

And ever is justice done. 

" Keep, Galileo, to thy thought, 

And nerve thy soul to bear ! 
They may gloat o'er the senseless words they wring. 

From the pangs of thy despair : 
They may veil their eyes, but they can not hide 

The sun's meridian glow ; 
The heel of a priest may tread thee down, 

And a tyrant work thee woe ; 
But never a truth has been destroyed : 

They may curse and call it crime ; 
Pervert and betray, or slander and slay 

Its teachers for a time. 
But the sunshine aye shall light the sky, 

As round and round we run ; 



SELECTIONS. 

And the truth shall ever come uppermost. 
And justice shall be done. 

" And live there now such men as these — 

With thoughts like the great of old? 
Many have died m their misery, 

And left their thought untold ; 
And many live and are ranked as mad, 

And placed in the cold world's ban. 
For sending their bright, far-seeing souls 

Three centuries in the van. 
They toil in penury and grief. 

Unknown, if not maligned ; 
Forlorn, forlorn, bearing the scorn 

Of the meanest of mankind. 
But yet the world goes round and round, 

And the genial seasons run. 
And ever the truth comes uppermost, 

And ever is iustice done. 



151 



XL. 

AGAINST CURTAILING THE RIGHT OF SUFFRAGE. 

VICTOR HUGO. 

Gentlemen : — I address the men who govern us, and say to 
them, — Go on, cut off three millions of voters ; cut off eight out 
of nine, and the result will be the same to you, if it be not more 
decisive. What you do not cut off is your own fault ; the ab- 
surdities of your policy of compression, your fatal incapacity, 
your ignorance of the present epoch, the antipathy you feel for 
it, and that It feels for you ; what you will not cut off is the 
times which are advancing, the hour now striking, the ascend- 
ing moveme?it of ideas, the gulf opening broader and deeper 
between yourself and the age, between the young generation 
and you, between the spirit of liberty and you, between the 
spirit of philosophy and you. 

What you will not cut off is this immense fact, that the nation 
goes to one side, while you go to the other ; that what for you is 
the sunrise is for it the sun's setting ; that you turn your backs to 



j^^ ELOCUTION. 

the future, while this great people of France, its front all radiant 
with light from the rising dawn of a new humanity, turns its 
back to the past. 

Gentlemen, this law is invalid ; it is null ; it is dead even before 
it exists. And do you know what has killed it ? It is that, when 
it meanly approaches to steal the vote from the pocket of the 
poor and feeble, it meets the keen, terrible eye of the national 
probity, a devouring light, in which the work of darkness dis- 
appears. 

Yes, men who govern us, at the bottom of every citizen's con- 
science, the most obscure as well as the greatest, at the very 
depths of the soul, (I use your own expressions,) of the last beg- 
gar, the last vagabond, there is a sentiment, sublime, sacred, 
insurmountable, indestructable, eternal, — the sentiment of 
right ! This sentiment, which is the very essence of the human 
conscience, which the Scriptures call the corner-stone of justice, 
is the rock on which iniquities, hypocrisies, bad laws, evil de- 
signs, bad governments, fall, and are shipwrecked. This is the 
hidden, irresistible obstacle, veiled in the recesses of every mind, 
but ever present, ever active, on which you will always exhaust 
yourselves ; and which, whatever you do, you will never de- 
stroy. I warn you, your labor is lost ; you will not extinguish 
it, you will not confuse it. Far easier to drag the rock from 
the bottom of the sea, than the sentiment of right from the 
heart of the people ! 



IRELAND. 

T. F. MEAGHER. 

I do not despair of my poor old country, her peace, her liberty, 
her glory. For that country I can do no more than bid her hope. 
To lift this island up ; to make her a benefactor instead of being 
the meanest beggar in the world ; to restore to her her native 
powers and her ancient constitution ; this has been my am- 
bition, and this ambition has been my crime. Judged by the 



SELECTIONS. j^^ 

law of England, I know this crime entails the penalty of death, 
but the history of Ireland explains this crime, and justifies it. 
Judged by that history I am no criminal ; you are no criminal ; 
I deserve no punishment ; we deserve no punishment. Judged 
by that history, the treason of which I stand convicted loses all 
its guilt ; is sanctified as a duty ; will be ennobled as a sacrifice. 
With these sentiments, my lord, I await the sentence of the 
court ; having done what I felt to be my duty ; having spoken 
what I felt to be the truth, as I have done on every other oc- 
casion of my short career. I now bid farewell to the country 
of my birth, my passion, and my death ; the country whose 
misfortunes have invoked my sympathies, whose factions I have 
sought to still ; whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim ; 
whose freedom has been my fatal dream. I offer to that 
country, as a proof of the love I bear her, and the sincerity 
with which I thought and spoke and struggled for her freedom, 
the life of a young heart ; and with that life all the hopes, the 
honors, the endearments of an honorable home. Pronounce, 
then, my lords, the sentence which the law directs, and I will 
be prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its 
execution. I hope to be able, with a pure heart and a perfect 
composure, to appear before a higher tribunal — a tribunal 
where a judge of infinite goodness, as well as of justice, will 
preside, and where, my lords, many, many of the judgments of 
this world will be reversed. 



HOME AND SCHOOL INFLUENCE ESPECIALLY 
NECESSARY IN TIME OF WAR. 

J. M. GREGORY — 1862. 

The grand march of humanity stops not in its course even for 
war. From the cradle to the coffin, the crowding columns move 
on with lock-step through the successive stages of life. Childhood 
can not halt in its progress for returning peace to afford leisure for 
education. On into the years — to manhood, to citizenship, to 



^ - . ELOCUTION. 

destiny — it rushes, whether lettrning lights its path and guides 
its steps, or ignorance involves it in error and conducts it head- 
long into vice. And if in peace the school is needful to rear 
our children to an intelligent and virtuous manhood, how much 
greater the need when war, with its inseparable barbarism, is 
drifting the nation from its onward course of peaceful civili- 
zation, back to the old realms of darkness and brute force. 

The high and heroic aims of this conflict will doubtless miti- 
gate the evils which necessarily attend an appeal to arms. To 
say nothing of the physical health and prowess that camp life 
and military discipline will develop, the love of country and 
love of liberty will rise again from mere holiday sentiments to 
the grandeur and power of national passions, and the Union, 
made doubly precious by the blood which its maintenance will 
cost, will attain a strength that no mortal force can shake or de- 
stroy. History will grow heroic again, and humanity itself will 
be inspired and glorified with this fresh vindication of its God- 
given rights and duties, in this new incarnation and triumph of 
the principles of Constitutional and Republican liberty. The 
too absorbing love of money, which has hitherto characterized 
us, has loosened somewhat its clutch, and been won to acts of 
genuine benevolence, at the sight of an imperiled country ; and 
the fiery demon of party spirit slinks away abashed before the 
roused patriotism which lays life itself on the altar of liberty. 

But with all this, the barbarisms of war are too palpable and 
terrific to be forgotten or disregarded, and the wise and patriotic 
statesman will find in them a more urgent reason for fostering 
those civilizing agencies which nourish the growing intelligence 
and virtue of the people. Against the ideas and vices en- 
gendered in the camps, and amidst the battle-fields, we must 
raise still higher the bulwarks of virtuous habits and beliefs, 
in the children yet at home. We need the utmost stretch of 
home and school influence to save society and the State from 
the terrible domination of military ideas and military forces, 
always so dangerous to civil liberty and free government. 



SELECTIONS. , 



CORDIAL SUBMISSION TO LAWFUL AUTHORITY A 
PRLAIARY ATTRIBUTE OF GOOD CITIZENSHIP. 

NEWTON BATEMAX. 

Obedience is the law of God's universe ; the inexorable decree 
of his providence. And evermore in the back-ground of his 
love and mercy to the docile and penitent, hangs the cloud of 
destruction to the incorrigibly guilty. Retribution waits upon 
invitation. Behind all Jehovah's dealings with angels, men and 
devils, there lingers an immutable, inexorable, eternal, must. 
Obey and live, refuse and perish, is the epitome of God's 
natural and spiritual economy. It rules in the moral and ma- 
terial worlds ; in the destinies of individuals, of nations, and of 
the race. 

The unsupported body falls is the lesson slowly and gently 
taught in the nursery, as the little child steps falteringly from 
father to mother, from chair to chair. Once learned, the law 
must be obeyed — death lurks at every precipice. Thus one by 
one, kindly, imperceptibly almost, God teaches us his physical 
laws, and ever after, by sea and land, through all the realms of 
nature, the inexorable decree, ''obey or die,'' attends our foot- 
steps. It is heard in the howl of the tempest, in the thunders 
of Niagara — it speaks to us in the earthquake and the ava- 
lanche—its fiery letters gleam in the storm-cloud, it sounds 
forth from the caverns and smoke of Vesuvius. 

We can not escape from this omnipresent, eternal must, in the 
natural world. IL is God's tremendous barrier, erected every- 
where, to turn us from destruction — erected not in anger, but 
in love. It is inexorable, because else it would cease to be ef- 
fective. Some must perish that many may live. We must obey 
the laws of health; the penalty of taking poison is death — the 
penalty of breathing foul air, sooner or later is death — the pen- 
alty of intemperance is misery, decay and death. 

The same unchangeable decree follows us in the moral world. 
We must obey the moral law, or si/ffer — physically as well as 
mentally. Here, too, God has no scruples about enforcing his 
commands by the ordeal of pain. He does not stop with 



jr^ ELOCUTION. 

"moral suasion" merely — hs not only pleads with divine 
tenderness, but he chastises with divine uncompromising firm- 
ness and severity. Sin and su-ffering are indissoluble. In the 
cup of every forbidden pleasure there lurks a viper, which 
sooner or later will sting soul and body to death. No tortures 
of the body can compare with the agonies of the spirit, but in 
due time, for every infraction of the moral code, the former are 
superadded to the latter. 

"■ Thou shalt not kilV is the sententious decree which epitomizes 
the divine regard for human life. Not — " It is not best to be a 
murderer — It is not right —you will be far happier if you do 
not — you should respect the rights and happiness of others — 
do not, I beseech you, do not be a murderer" — but, ringing 
through the earth, the terse mandate of God falls loud and 
clear upon the race, " Thou shalt not." And who can de- 
pict the terrors that gather about and haunt the guilty wretch 
who violates the prohibition — goad and haunt him to his dying 
hour, even if swift destruction does not overtake him at the 
hands of the law. A fugitive and a vagabond, pursued through 
the earth by the sleepless and relentless Nemesis of vengeance, 
scourged by the scorpion lash of conscience, pale and wasted 
and haggard, he drags himself onward to a premature grave, or 
invokes the suicide's doom. Thus does the everlasting must 
confront the transgressor at every turn. 

And as it is with individuals, so it is with nations. The track 
of centuries is strewn with the memorials of Jehovah's tremen- 
dous judgments upon States and Empires that would not obey 
his law. " The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the 
NATIONS that forget God," is the record which six thousand 
years have confirmed. " The mills of the gods grind slowly," 
hut sooner or later retribution, resistless and appalling, closes 
the career of national injustice and wrong. So it has been in 
the past, so it is now, and so it will ever be. Mercy, forbear- 
ance, entreaty, persuasion, are tried first — the light of reason, 
the warnings of experience, the monitions of Providence are 
given to avert the impending blow. Truth and virtue, justice 
and freedom, are inscribed upon the banners beneath which 
the God of History would lead liie nations to the millennial day. 



SELECTIONS. j-w 



THE VAGABONDS. 



We are two travelers, Roger and I. 

Roger's my dog. — -Come here, you scamp ! 
Jump for the gentlemen, — mind your eye ! 

Over the table, — look out for the lamp ! — • 
The rogue is growing a little old ; 

Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, 
And slept out-doors when nights were cold, 

And ate and drank — and starved — together. 

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you ! 

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, 
A fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow I 

The paw he holds up there's been frozen,) 
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle, 

(This out-door business is bad for strings,) 
Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, 

And Roger and I set up for kings ! 

No, thank ye, sir, — I never drink ; 

Roger and I are exceedingly moral — 
Are n't we, Roger? — See him wink I — 

Well, something hot, then, — we won't quarrel. 
He's thirsty, too, — see him nod his head? 

What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk ! 
lie understands every word that's said, — 

And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. 

The truth is, sir, now I reflect, 

I've been so sadly given to grog, 
1 wonder I've not lost the respect 

(Here's to you, sir !) even of my dog. 
But he sticks by, through thick and thin ; 

And this old coat, with its empty pockets, 
Ar«d rags that smell of tobacco and gin, 

He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. 

There is n't another creature living 

Would do it, and prove, through ever}' disaster. 
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, 

To such a miserable, thankless master ! 
No, sir ! — see him wag his tail and grin ! 

By George 1 it makes my old eyes water ! 



iS8 



ELOCUTION. 

That is, there's something in this gin. 
That chokes a fellow. But no matter ! 

We'll have some music, if you're willing, 

And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, sir !) 
Shall march a little. — Start, you villain I 

Stand straight ! 'Bout face ! Salute your officer ! 
Put up that paw ! Dress ! Take your rifle ! 

(Some dogs have arms, you see !j Now hold your 
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, 

To aid a poor, old, patriot soldier ! 

March 1 Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes, 

When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
Now tell us how many drams it takes 

To honor a jolly new acquaintance. 
Five yelps, — that's five ; he's mighty knowing ! 

The night's before us, fill the glasses ! — 
Quick, sir ! I'm ill, — m.y brain is going ! — 

Some brandy, — thank you, — there ! — it passes ! 

Why not reform ? That's easily said ; 

But I've gone through such wretched treatment, 
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread. 

And scarce remembering what meat meant, 
That my poor stomach's past reform ; 

And there are times when, mad with thinking, 
I'd sell out heaven for something warm 

To prop a horrible inward sinking. 

Is there a way to forget to think ? 

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, 
A dear girl's love, — but I took to drink ; — 

The same old story ; you know how it ends. 
If you could have seen these classic features, — 

You need n't laugh, sir ; they were not then 
Such a burning libel on God's creatures : 

I was one of your handsome men ! 

If you had seen her, so fair and young, 

Whose head was happy on this breast ! 
If you could have heard the song I sung 

When the wine went round, you would n't have guessed 
That ever I, sir, should be straying 

From door to door, with fiddle and dog, 
Ragged and penniless, and playing 

To you to-night for a glass of grog ! 



SELECTIONS. 

She's married since, — a parson's wife : 

'T was better for her that we should part, — 
Better the soberest, prosiest life 

Than a blasted home and a broken heart. 
I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent 

On a dusty road : a carriage stopped 
But little she dreamed, as on she went, 

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped ! 

A'ou've set me talking, sir ; I'm sorry ; 

It makes me wild to think of the change ! 
What do you care for a beggar's story ? 

Is it amusing ? you find it strange ? 
I had a mother so proud of me ! 

'T was well she died before — Do you know 
If the happy spirits in heaven can see 

The ruin and wretchedness here below ? 

Another glass, and strong to deaden 

This pain ; then Roger and I will start. 
I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, 

Aching thing, in place of a heart ? 
He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, 

No doubt, remembering things that were, — 
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, 

And himself a sober, respectable cur. 

I'm better now ; that glass was warming. — 

You rascal ! limber your lazy feet ! 
We must be fiddling and performing 

For supper and bed, or starve in the street. — 
Not a very gay life to lead, you think ? 

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free. 
And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink ;— 

The sooner, the better for Roger and me ! 



159 



X L ^■ . 
MY MOTHER. 

BELLE BUSH. 

My mother's a beautiful spirit, and her home is the Holy Evangel's ; 

There she feels neither sorrow nor pain, and treads not the path of the 

weary. 
Years ago, in the bud of my being, I knew her a radiant mortal, 



i6o 



ELOCUTION. 



But the house of her soul decayed, and she fled from the crumbling mansion. 

And over the sea of eternity, bridged by the hands of angels, 

Uniting the links of belief with the golden chain of repentance, 

She passed, with the torch of prayer, to the opposite shore in safety. 

When, crowned with the garlands of love, she mounted the steps of the city, 

And the angels of Mercy and Truth, keeping watch at the heavenly portals. 

Beheld her approach from afar, and flung open the pearly partitions ; 

With song and loud hallelujahs they welcomed the earth-ransomed stranger. 

And guided her steps, till she stood on the brink of the Life-giving fountain, 

W^here, tasting its Lethean waters, all the joys of the world were forgotten. 

Save the beautiful bloom of the soul — the love in the heart of the mother. 

This, the light of her life upon earth, now budded and blossomed in heaven , 

Stately and fair it towered, and the hue of its leaves was immortal. 

Strong tendrils grew out from each bough, and twined round the chords of 

her spirit. 
While the zephyrs of Paradise played and toyed ^vith the delicate branches. 
Till- each leaf like a harp-string swayed, and murmured in strains yEoiian, 
And oft with their musical numbers reminded the wondering mother 
Of the flowers she had left in the desert — her weary and sorrowing children. 
In their half-open leaflets she reads the pledge of her glorious mission, 
And rejoiced that her love should gather those earthly buds to her bosom. 
The angels beheld her in gladness rise np on those radiant pinions 
Which float on the air like a sunbeam, and rival the dove in their fleetness. 

Oh, my mother's a beautiful spirit, and her home is the holy Evangel's ; 
But she comes on her soft floating pinions to look for her earth-bound 

children. 
She comes, and the hearts that were weary no longer remember their sorrow 
In their joy that the lost is returned, our beloved and radiant mother ! 
She comes, and our spirits rejoice, for we know she's our guardian angel. 
O'er our journey in life keeping watch, and giving us gentle caresses. 
She comes, she comes with the light that opens the gate of the morning. 
Her robes are of delicate pink, — sweet emblem of holy affection, — 
And her voice is our music by night, of perils and storms giving warning, 
And twined o'er her radiant brow are the amaranth-blossoms of heaven. 
She smiles, and the light of her smiles bringeth joy in our seasons of dark- 
ness ; 
She whispers, and soft are the zephyrs that echo her musical numbers, 
As they waft o'er the chords of our being her thrilling and fervent emotions. 
We listen to her in our sorrow, and yield to each gentle impression. 
Till pleasant co us is the path leading down to the rushing river ; 
O'er the swift-rolling current of death we shall pass to the homes of the 

spirits, 
And, waiting beside the still waters, our mother will be there to greet us ; 



SELECTIONS. , z; ^ 

lOI 

With songs she will welcome our coming, and fold us to rest on her bosom, 
And teach us, like lisping children, to murmur the language of heaven ! 

, Oh, my mother's a beautiful spirit, and her home is the holy Evangel's ; 
But she comes on the pinions of love to watch her sorrowing children. 
She comes, and the shadows depart, as we thrill to her gentle caresses. 
Our Father in Heaven, we bless thee, that our mother's our Guardian 
Angel ! 



WAITING BY THE GATE. 

WILLIAM C. BRYANT. 

Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone by, 
Upon whose tops the clouds in eternal shadows lie, 
While streams the evening sunshine on quiet wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. 

The tree-tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight, 
A soft and soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night ; 
I hear the woodthrush piping one mellow descant more. 
And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of day is o'er. 

Behold, the portals open, and o'er the threshold now 
There steps a weary one with a pale and furrowed brow ; 
His count of years is full, his allotted task is wrought ; 
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not. 

In sadness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour 
Of human strength and action, man's courage and his power. 
I muse while still the woodthrush sings down the golden day, 
And as I look and listen the sadness wears away. 

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing, throws 
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes ; 
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair. 
Moves mournfully away from amidst the young and fair. 

O glory of our race, that so suddenly decays ! 

O crimson flush of morning, that darkens as we gaze ! 

O breath of summer flowers, that on the restless air 

Scatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not where ! 



l62 



ELOCUTION. 



I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn; 
But still the sun shines round me ; the evening birds sing on, 
And I again am soothed, and, beside the ancient gate. 
In this soft, evening twilight, I calmly stand and wait. 

Once more the gates are opened ; an infant group goes out, 

The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the sprightly shout, 

frail, frail tree of Life, that upon the greensward strows 
Its fair, young buds unopened, with every wind that blows ! 

So come from every region, so enter, side by side, 
The strong and faint of spirit, the meek, and men of pride ; 
Steps of earth's great and mighty, between those pillows gray. 
And prints of little feet, mark the dust along the way. 

And some approach the threshold whose looks are blank with fear. 
And some whose temples brighten with joy in drawing near. 
As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious eye 
Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die. 

1 mark the joy, the terror ; yet these, within my heart, 
Can neither make the dread nor the longing to depart ; 
And in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. 



XLVII. 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

We see not, know not ; all our way 
Is night, — with Thee alone is day : 
From out the torrent's troubled drift. 
Above the storm our prayers we lift. 
Thy will be done ! 

The flesh may fail, the heart may faint. 
But who are we to make complaint. 
Or dare to plead, m times like these, 
The weakness of our love of ease ? 
Thy will be done ! 

We take with solemn thankfulness 
Our burden up, nor ask it less, 
And count it joy that even we 



SELECTIONS. 

May suffer, serve, or wait for thee, 
Whose will be done ! 

Though dim as yet in tint and line. 
We trace thy picture's wise design, 
And thank thee that our age supplies 
Its dark relief of sacrifice. 
Thy will be done ! 

And if, in our unworthiness. 
Thy sacrificial wine we press. 
If from thy ordeal's heated bars 
Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, 
Thy will be done ! 

If, for the age to come, this hour 
Of trial hath vicarious power. 
And, blest by thee, our present pain 
Be Liberty's eternal gain. 

Thy will be done ! 

Strike, thou, the Master, we thy keys. 
The anthem of the destinies : 
The minor of thy loftier strain. 
Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain, 
Thy will be done ! 



163 



XL VIII. 

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. 

GERALD MASSEY. 

High hopes that burned like stars sublime, 

Go down the heavens of Freedom ; 
And true hearts perish in the time 

We bitterliest need 'em. 
But never sit we down and say 

There is nothing left but sorrow : 
We walk the wilderness to-day, — 

The Promised Land to-morrow. 

Our birds of song are silent now, — 
There are no flowers blooming ; 

Yet life beats in the frozen bough. 
And Freedom's Spring is coming ! 



164 



ELOCL.TION. 

And Freedom's tide comes up always, 
Though we may strand in sorrow ; 

And our good bark, aground to-day, 
Shall float agam to-morrow ! 

Through all the long, dark night of years, 

The people's cry ascendeth, 
And earth is wet with blood and tears ; 

But our meek sufferance endeth ! 
The few shall not forever sway, 

The many wail in sorrow ! 
The powers of hell are strong to-day, 

But Christ shall reign to-morrow ! 

Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyes 

With smiling Futures glisten ! 
For lo ! our day bursts up the skies ; 

Lean out your souls, and listen ! 
The world rolls Freedom's radiant way, 

And ripens with her sorrow : 
Keep heart ! who bear the cross to-day. 

Shall wear the crown to-morrow ! 

O Youth, flame-earnest, still aspire 

With energies immortal ! 
To many a heaven of desire 

Our yearning opes a portal ! 
And though age wearies by the way, 

And hearts break in the furrow, 
We'll sow the golden grain to-day, — 

The harvest comes to-morrow ! 

Build up heroic lives, and all 

Be like a sheathen sabre, 
Ready to flash out at God's call, 

O chivalry of labor ; 
Triumph and Toil are twins ; and, aye, 

Joy seems the cloud of sorrow ; 
And 'tis the martyrdom to-day. 

Brings victory to-morrow ! 



SELECTIONS. 
XLIX. 

THE GROVES OF BLARNEY. 

R. A. MILLIKIN. 

The groves of Blarney they look so charming, 

Down by the purlings of sweet, silent brooks — 
All decked by posies, that spontaneous grows there, 

Planted in order in the rocky nooks. 
'T is there the daisy, and the sweet carnation. 

The blooming pink, and the rose so fair ; 
Likewise the lily, and the daffodilly — 

All flowers that scent the sweet, open air. 

'T is Lady Jeffers owns this plantation, 

Like Alexander, or like Helen fair ; 
There's no commander in all the nation 

For regulation can with her compare. 
Such walls surround her, that no nine-pounder 

Could ever plunder her place of strength ; 
But Oliver Cromwell, he did her pommel 

And made a breach in her battlement. 

There's gravel walks there for speculation. 

And conversation in sweet solitude ; 
*T is there the lover may hear the dove, or 

The gentle plover, in the afternoon. 
And if a young lady should be so engaging 

As to walk all alone in those shady bowers, 
*T is there the courtier he may transport her 

In some dark fort, or under the ground. 

For 't is there's the cave where no daylight enters, 

But bats and badgers are forever bred ; 
Being mossed by natur', that makes it sweeter 

Than a coach and six or a feather bed. 
'T is there's the lake that is stored with perches, 

And comely eels in the verdant mud ; 
Besides the leeches, and the groves of beeches, 

All standing in order for to guard the flood. 

'T is there's the kitchen hangs many a flitch in, 
With the maids a stitching upon the stair ; 

The bread and biske'— -the beer and whiskey. 
Would make you frisky if you were there . 



165 



J 55 ELOCUTION. 

'T is there you'd see Peg Murphy's daughter 
A washing praties forenent the door, 

With Roger Cleary, and Father Healy, 

All blood relations to my Lord Donoughmore. 

There's statues gracing this noble place in, 

All heathen goddesses so fair — 
Bold Neptune, Plutarch, and Nicodemus, 

All standing naked in the open air. 
So now to finish this brave narration. 

Which my poor geni' could not entwine ; 
But were I Homer, or Nebuchadnezzar, 

'T is in every feature I would make it shine. 



L. 

OUR SYSTEM OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION SHOULD 

DISTINCTIVELY INCULCATE A LOVE OF 

COUNTRY. 

NEWTON BATEMAN. 

The true American patriot is ever a worshiper. The starry- 
symbol of his country's sovereignty is to hint radiant with a di- 
viner glory than that which meets his mortal vision. It epito- 
mizes the splendid results of dreary ages of experiments and 
failures in human government ; and, as he gazes upon its starry- 
folds undulating responsive to the whispering winds of the upper 
air, it sometimes seems to his rapt spirit to recede further and fur- 
ther into the soft blue skies, till the heavens open, and angel hands 
plant it upon the battlements of Paradise. Wherever that ensign 
floats, on the sea or on the land, it is to him the very Shekinah 
of his political love and faith, luminous with the presence of 
that God who conducted his fathers across the sea and through 
the fires of the Revolution, to the Pisgah heights of civil and re- 
ligious liberty. Its stars seem real ; its lines of white symbol 
the purity of his heroic sires ; those of red, their patriot blood 
shed in defense of the right. To defend that flag is to him 
something more than a duty, it is a joy, a coveted privilege, 
akin to that which nerves the arm and directs the blow in de- 



SELECTIONS. j^„ 

fense of wife or child. To insult it is worse than infamy ; to 
make war upon it, more than treason. 

A perfect civil government is the sublimest earthly symbol of 
Deity — indeed, such a government is a transcript of the divine 
will ; its spirit and principles identical with those with which he 
governs the universe. Its vigilance, care, and protection, are ubi- 
quitous — its strong hand is ever ready to raise the fallen, restrain 
the violent, and punish the aggressor. Its patient ear is bent to 
catch alike the complaint of the rich and strong, or the poor and 
weak, while unerring justice presides at the trial and settlement 
of every issue between man and man. 

Now, our government is not perfect, even in theory, and still 
less so in practice ; but it is good and strong and glorious enough 
to inspire a loftier patriotism than animates the people of any 
other nation. What element is wanting to evoke the passionate 
love and admiration of an American citizen for his country ? 
Is it ancestry ? Men of purer lives, sterner principles, or braver 
hearts than our fathers, never crossed the sea. Is it motives ? 
Not for war or conquest, but for civil and religious liberty, did 
our fathers approach these shores. Is it perils and obstacles ? 
Wintry storms, and icy coasts, and sterile soils, prowling beasts, 
and savage men, and hunger, and nakedness, and disease, and 
death, were the greeting our fathers received. Is it patient en- 
durance .'' Not till the revelations of the final day, will the 
dauntless fortitude of our fathers, in the midst of appalling 
dangers and sufferings, be disclosed. Is it heroic achievement.? 
Again and again has the haughty Lion of St. George been 
brought to the dust, and the titled chivalry of England over- 
thrown by the resistless onset of the sons of liberty, led by 
"Mr. Washington!" Is it moral sublimity.? Behold Wither- 
spoon in the Continental Congress; Washington at Valley 
Forge; Clay in the Senate of 1850. Is it that we have no his- 
torical Meccas ? Where shall a patriot muse and pray, if not 
by the shades of Vernon or Ashland — at Marshfield or the 
Hermitage. Have we no great names to go flaming down the 
ages ? When will Henry's clarion voice be hushed, or Warren 
cease to tell men how to die for liberty — when will Adams, 
and Franklin, and Jefferson fade from history ? Is it consti- 



,^o ELOi;UTION. 

tutional wisdom, excellence oi' laws, or incentives to individual 
exertion ? No other land can compare with ours in these re- 
spects. Is it grandeur of scenery? God has made but one 
Niagara, one Mississippi, one Huds<jn. Is it territorial extent ? 
Our domain stretches from ocean t<? ocean, and from lake to 
gulf. 

By all these incentives let our school-boys be fired with an en- 
thusiastic love for the dear land of their birth, the precious herit- 
age of their fathers — let them leave the school-room for the 
arena of active life, feeling that next to God and their parents, 
their country claims and shall receive their best affections and 
most uncompromising devotion — let them realize that their 
conduct will bring honor or dishonor upon their country, as 
surely as upon their parents and friends — let them learn to 
identify themselves as citizens with the interests of the common- 
wealth, blushing at whatever disgraces her, exulting in all that 
contributes to her glory and renown — let them feel that this 
great country is f/ie/r country, that they have a personal pro- 
prietorship in the lustre of her history, the honor of her name, 
the magnificence of her commerce, the valor of her fleets and 
armies, the inviolability of her Constitution and laws, and the 
magnitude and beneficence of her civil, social, and religious 
institutions. 



THE COURTIN'. 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

God makes sech nights, all white an' still, furz you can look or listen, 
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, all silence an' all glisten. 
Zekle crep' up, quite unbeknown, an' peeked in thru the winder, 
An' there sot Huldy, all alone, with no one nigh to hinder. 
A fire-place filled the room's one side with half a cord o' wood in, — 
There warn't no stoves till Comfort died, to bake ye to a puddin'. 
The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out toward the pootiest, bless her ! 
An' leetle flames danced all about the chiny on the dresser. 



SELECTIONS. r 

109 

Agin the chimbley crooknecks hung, and in amongst 'em rusted 

The ole queen's-arm that gran'ther Young fetched back from Concord' 

busted. 
The very room, coz she was in, seemed warm from floor to ceilin', 
An' she looked full ez rosy agm ez the apples she was peelin'. 
'T was kin' o' kingdom come to look on sech a blessed cretur, 
A dogrose blushni' to a brook an't modester nor sweeter. 
'He was six foot o' man, A i. clean grit an' human natur. 
None couldn't quicker pitch a ton, nor dror a furrer straighter. 
He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, he'd squired 'em, danced 'em, 

druv 'em, 
Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,— all is, he couldn't love 'em. 
But long o" her. his veins 'ould run all crinkly, Hke curled maple, * 

The side she breshed felt full o' sun ez a south slope in Ap'il. 
She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing as hisn in the choir ; 
My ! when he made Ole Hundred ring, she knowcd the Lord was nigher. 
An' she'd blush scarlit, right m prayer, when her new meetin'-bunnet 
Felt, somehow, thru its crown, a pair o' blue eyes sot upon it. 
Thet night, I tell ye, she looked so??ie ! she seemed to 've got a new soul, 
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, down to her very shoe-sole. 
She heerd a foot, an' knowed it, tu, a-raspin' on the scraper, — 
All ways to once her feelins' flew, like sparks in burnt-up paper. 
He kin' o' loitered on the mat, some doubtfle o' the sekle, 
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, but hern went pity-Zekle. 
An' yit, she gin her cheer a jerk, ez though she wished him furder, 
An' on her apples kep' to work, parin' away like murder. 
You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" "Wall — no — I come designin'" — 
To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es, agin to-morrer's i'nin." 
To say why gals acts so or so, or don't, would be presumin' ; 
Mebby to mean yes an' say no comes nateral to women. 
He stood a spell on one foot fust, then stood a spell on t' other. 
An' on which one he felt the wust, he couldn't ha' told ye, nuther. 
Says he, *' I'd better call agin." Says she, " Think likely. Mister." 
That last word pricked him like a pin, an' — wal, he up an' kissed her. 
When Ma, bimeby, upon 'em slips, Huldy sot, pale as ashes, 
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips, an' teary roun' the lashes ; 
For she was jest the quiet kind, whose naturs never vary. 
Like streams thet keep a summer mind snow-hid in Jenooary, 
The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued too tight for all expressin', 
Till Mother see how matters stood, an' gin 'em both her blessin'. 
Then her red come back, like the tide down to the Bay o' Fundy, 
An' all I know is, they was cried in meetin' come nex' Sunday. 



170 



ELOCUTION. 
LII. 

SOCRATES SNOOKS. 

FROM KIDD'S elocution. 

Mister Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation, 

A second time entered the marriage relation ; 

Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand, 

And thought him the happiest man in the land. 

But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his head, 

When, one morning, to Xantippe, Socrates said, 

" I think, for a man of my standing in life, 

This house is too small, as I now have a wife ; 

So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey 

Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy." 

*' Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied, 

" I hate to hear everything vulgarly myd; 

Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again, 

Say, our cow-house, our barn-yard, our pig-pen." 

" By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please 

Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, 7ny trees." 

" Say Our'^ Xantippe exclaimed, in a rage. 

" I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age !" 

O woman ! though only a part of man's rib, 

If the story in Genesis don't tell a fib, 

Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you^ 

You are certain to prove the best man of the two. 

In the following case it was certainly true ; 

For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe, 

And laying about her, all sides at random. 

The adage was verified — "' Nil desperajtdum.^* 

Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain, 
To ward off the blows which descended like rain, — 
Concluding that valor's best part was discretion, — 
Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian. 
But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid. 
Converted the siege into a blockade. 

At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate, 

He concluded 't was useless to strive against fate ; 

And so, like a tortoise, protruding his head. 

Said, " My dear, may we come out from under ^z^r bed?" 

" Hah ! hah !" she exclaimed, •'• Mr. Socrates Snooks, 



SELECTIONS. j^, 

I perceive you agree to my terms, by your looks : 

Now, Socrates, — hear me, — from this happy hour, 

If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour." 

'T is said the next Sabbath, ere going to church, 

He chanced for a clean pair of trowsers to search ; 

Having found them, he asked, with a few nervous twitches, 

'■'•My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches?" 



LIII. 

THE INTERESTS OF RICH AND POOR DEMAND 
UNIVERSAL EDUCATION. 

RICHARD EDWARDS. 

How Stands the account then with the child whom we have 
allowed to grow up among us in ignorance and vice t On the 
credit side we have a few dollars — a very few — which we are per- 
mitted to hold but a short time, too, and that at a very extrava- 
gant interest ; on the other, we have the entire loss of all he 
might and would have done for us, together with an entailment 
upon us of untold evil, in its worst and most odious forms. 
How seems it from a business point of view 1 Does the specu- 
lation look inviting .? Ye rich men, with no children, do you 
think it will pay you to let schools languish and die all about 
you, because it is nothing to you? Is it nothing to you.? 
Which costs the most, a school-house or a prison.'* And be 
sure that you will have one or the other to pay for. 

For the rich, then, there is safety and the highest profit only in 
universal education. And what shall be said in this respect of 
the poor ? Of the toiling millions who, without figure of speech, 
earn their bread by the sweat of their brow .? How are they 
affected by the proposition that the property of the State shall 
educate its children ? I tell you that the political and social 
salvation of these depend upon this principle. We proclaim in 
our Declaration of Independence that all are born free and 
equal. We claim to have abolished all artificial and unjust 
distinctions among us. We point exultingly to our universal 
suffrage — the right of every man to have a voice in the selec- 



_,_2 ELOCUIION. 

tion of our rulers — as a proof of sincerity in these professions. 
But what sort of equality is that which exists between two 
classes of men, one of whom enjoys the means of education, 
and the other does not ? One of whom is allowed to reach the 
maximum, while the other is restricted to the minimum of its 
capacities ? Is knowledge power ? How, then, can there be 
any equality between him whose mind has been illumined by 
her radiance, and him upon whose darkened soul no ray of hers 
has fallen ? To bestow the right of suffrage on ignorant men 
is no blessing, but a curse to them and all concerned, and least 
of all is it making them equal to men of culture. As well 
might you put a sextant into the hands of a child of two years, 
and say that he has an equal chance v/ith the veteran navigator 
for fmding his longitude, as to claim that the mere right to vote 
makes men equals in power and influence. 

The truth is, that universal education is the greatest equalizer 
among men. Of all institutions, the public school is the poor 
man's best and truest friend. It is of all things the most demo- 
cratic. It has in it more of democracy, ten times over, than 
free trade, the sub-treasury, the habeas corpus, or the veto of 
the United States Bank. It is the grand talisman of equality. 
It puts the child of the poor man on a level, at the threshold 
of life, with the heir of thousands, and enables him to main- 
tain the equality, unless nature or his own indolence interfere 
to prevent. Democracy is impossible without universal intelli- 
gence. 



LI V . 

THE FARMER'S PROFESSION. 

ANSON S. MILLER. 1 842. 

Above all things, farmers, Jionor your vocation. Arise to the 
nobility of your employment. Occupy that station in society to 
which the dignity of your calling and the ownership of the soil 
entitle you. Give your sons as good a^o-^;z^;r^/ education for the 
farm as for the " learned professions." Banish from your house- 



SELECTIONS. ,^^ 

holds the false and pernicious sentiment that your sons are too 
talented to become farmers ; and that there are pursuits in our 
country, other than agriculture, that will open to them a surer 
way to wealth and honor. 

From the beginning, the cultivation of the earth has been the 
delight of the wise. The great ancestor of our race was ordained 
husbandman by the Creator, and placed in a garden, 

" Chosen by the Sovereign Planter, when he framed 
All things to man's delightful use." 

Princely patriarchs, prophets, kings, philosophers — the great of 
all ages — have honored agriculture with their fondest regard. 
The pursuit is, indeed, laborious. Labor, however, is not an 
evil, except in its excess. Its cheerful performance by man has 
freed it from the original curse. Work is the gracious ordin- 
ation of Heaven for human excellence, the parent of value, 
and the condition of unnumbered blessings. 

The farmer's calling is full of moral grandeur. He supports 
the world, is the partner of nature, and peculiarly " a co-worker 
with God." The sun, the atmosphere, the dews, the rains, day 
and night, the seasons — all the natural agents — are his ministers 
in the spacious temple of the firmament. Health is the at- 
tendant of his toils. The philosophy of Nature exercises and 
exalts the intellect of the intelligent farmer. His moral powers 
are ennobled by the manifestations of supreme love and wis- 
dom in everything around him — in the genial air, the opening 
bud, the delicate flower, the growing and ripening fruit, the 
stately trees — in vegetable life and beauty, springing out of 
death and decay ; and in the wonderful succession and harmony 
of the seasons. 

" These, as they change, Almighty Father ! these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of thee." 

We are now beholding a mighty moral revolution. Hitherto, 
glory has been sought in the destruction rather than the preser- 
vation of man. The history of our race is a history of wars. A 
better age is rising upon us, in which renown will be found in 
usefulness. Justice will yet be fully done to the benefactors of 
mankind. We trust that those who have labored in the cause 



J w . ELOCUTION. 

in which we are now engaged — Young, and Watson, and Clin- 
ton, and Buel, and many others, both of the dead and the liv- 
ing, who have laid society under enduring obligations — will 
receive their share of the public gratitude. How dim, how 
fleeting, is the fame of the mere warrior, when contrasted with 
that of the civilian and the philanthropist ! What wasting 
battles, what fields enriched with carnage, what spoils of victory, 
or what splendid triumphs, could confer the lasting glory of De 
Witt Clinton ! 



THE OLD MAN DREAMS. 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

Oh for one hour of youthful joy ! 

Give back my twentieth spring ! 
I'd rather laugh, a bright-haired boy, 

Than reign a gray-beard king ! 

Off with the wrinkled spoils of age ! 

Away with learning's crown ! 
Tear out life's wisdom-written page, 

And dash its trophies down ! 

One moment let my life-blood stream 
From boyhood's fount of flame ! 

Give me one giddy, reeling dream 
Of life all love and fame ! 

My listening angel heard the prayer, 
And calmly smiling, said, 
" If I but touch thy silvered hair. 
Thy hasty wish hath sped. 

" But is there nothing in thy track 
To bid thee fondly stay, 
While the swift seasons hurry back 
To find the wished-for day ?" 

Ah, truest soul of womankind, 
Without thee, what were life? 



SELLCTIONS. 

One bliss I cannot leave behind : 
111 take — my — precious — wife ! 

The angel took a sapphire pen 
And wrote in rainbow dew, 
^' The man would be a boy again, 
And be a husband too !" 

*' And is there nothing yet unsaid 
Before the change appears ? 
Remember, all their gifts have fled 
With those dissolving years?" 

"Why, yes ; for memory would recall 

My fond paternal joys ; 
I could not bear to leave them all : 

I'll take — my — girl — and — boys ! 

The smiling angel dropped his pen, — 
"Why, this will never do ; 
The man would be a boy again. 
And be a father, too ! " 

And so I laughed, — my laughter woke 
The household with its noise, — 

And wrote my dream, when morning broke, 
To please the gray-haired boys. 



175 



ALL VALUE CENTERS IN MIND. 

RICHARD EDWARDS. 

Universal education — the culture of every mind born into 
the world — is necessary : First, because the end of life, and of 
all things which concern it, is to minister to the needs of mind ; 
and the greatest need that mind has is education. We have 
said that, as compared with communities, the individual is an 
end. But a further analysis shows that only the immortal part 
of him is so. Of all things in any degree entrusted to human 
management, the human mind is, beyond expression, of most 
worth, because it is the only thing which is valuable in and of 



J75 ELOCUTION. 

itself. All other forms of existence are only means, to be used 
and valued so long as they contribute to the development, ex- 
altation, or dignifying of mind, and then to be thrown aside like 
a worn-out implement, or a cast-off garment. Farms and houses, 
railroads and shipping, earth and stars, powers and principali- 
ties, things present and things to come, have just this one use, 
or they have none— to minister, in their feeble way, to the illim- 
itable, eternal, infinite necessities of mind. If anything in the 
range of human knowledge can be pointed to, of which it may 
be said that it does not contribute to t he perfecting, in some 
way, of mind, then we say that that thing, whatever it may be, 
has no right to existence, and ought to be abolished. 

How shall we test the usefulness of some material interest or 
possession ? As, for an example, of a railroad or a farm ? Are 
we told that a railroad is useful in increasing the facilities for 
intercourse between different portions of the country, in devel- 
oping the resources of otherwise inaccessible regions rich in ev- 
ery product that supplies human wants ? That it increases the 
population of States, and of the nation, and enhances the value 
of real estate ; and, in short, that it increases the wealth-power, 
and consequent dignity of the nation ? Then, I ask, what is the 
use of all this ? Are these things to be sought for their own 
sake ? If the railroads of our own State have increased her 
population by numbers that shall soon be counted in millions, 
yet of what avail is it all if they are millions of knaves and cow- 
ards .'' What is the use of wealth, or civilization, or national 
greatness, in themselves considered ? 

No, my friends ; if this world was made for any purpose be- 
sides the glory of God, (and to contribute to God's glory is to 
exalt and dignify mind,) unless its creation was an accident or 
a blunder, it was formed to be the school house of the race — 
to minister in its various forms of harmony, beauty, and sublim- 
ity, to the necessities of the souls that have been placed in it. 
It is for this that the mountain shoots up from the plain, and 
stands in majesty against the distant sky; for this the earth puts 
on her gorgeous robes of spring and summer ; for this the sea is 
spread out in beauty when the winds are hushed, or is roused 
into terrific sublimity when the tempest is abroad ; for this the 



SELECTIONS. j^^ 

heavens put on their star-decked mantle, and make the night 
more glorious than the day ; for this planets and suns move with 
measured and obedient step through an extent of space that ap- 
pals even the mind to which it ministers , for this all nature, 
like a grand instrument, with infinite variety of parts and ex- 
pressions, has been uttering her voice, from the time when the 
mornino- stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted 
for joy. Every tint of the rose, every sigh of the breeze, every 
glimpse of the sunshine, is laid as an offering upon the shrme 
of mind ; and man, feeble and frail though he be, is admitted 
to a share of the magnificent homage. 

We may depend upon it, there is nothing with which we have 
to do that is of so much consequence as mind. And, if so, it 
follows that all mind should be educated. This is the great 
duty of humanity. Every generation of men owes it to the next 
succeeding, as a debt before the law of human progress, to give 
to each individual of that next, as high and symmetrical a 
character, one conforming as nearly to the ideal of manly or 
womanly excellence, as possible. Let the generation now on 
the stage do all things else, and neglect this duty, and on the 
grand ledger there will be an infinite balance against it. We 
may tithi the mint, anise, and cumin, but this, the training of 
the children entrusted to our care, this is the weightier matter 
of the everlasting law. 

If a skillful lapidary should find, in the possession of some 
rude savage, a rough, misshapen diamond, but of such superior 
quality as to enable it, when polished, to treasure up the sun- 
light, and to pour it forth in a glorious flood, would he not be 
inclined to exclaim, " What a pity that such beauty should be 
covered up, when a little cutting and polishing might open it in 
all its wealth to the wondering gaze of men!" If a practical 
philanthropist should see a province of fertile land lying waste 
and barren on account of the thriftless indolence of the inhab- 
itants, would not he exclaim, " What a pity that such resources, 
such capacities for promoting the progress of civilization, should 
rem.ain dormant and worthless just for the want of a little en- 
ergy and industry on the part of this people.''" But what are 
all the diamonds that ever graced the brows of majesty, or glad- 



J yg ELOCUTION. 

dened the heart of the miser ? What are all the fertile plains 
that ever filled the world's granaries, compared to that to which 
field and gem are but ministers ? And when we contemplate 
the sad spectacle of a single mind allowed to grow up to the 
deformities induced by ignorance and vice, transformed by neg- 
lect into the likeness of the fiend instead of the divine image, 
and all for want of that higher industry, that diligence in the 
perfonPxance of duty, which is the prerogative of man alone ; 
when we think of this we feel that illustration entirely fails ; 
that it is the strongest case that we can conceive — imagination 
strives in vain to present a spectacle half so sad. Figurative 
language but dissipates the power of the thought. The plainest 
statement is the most impressive we can make. 



MY DARLING'S SHOES. 

God bless the little feet that can never go astray. 
For the little shoes are empty, in the closet laid away ! 
Sometimes I take one in my hand, forgetting, till I see 
It is a little half-worn shoe, not large enough for me ; 
And all at once I feel a sense of bitter loss and pain, 
As sharp as when two years ago it cut my heart in twain. 

little feet that wearied not, I wait for them no more, 

For I am drifting with the tide, but f/i^y have reached the shore ; 
And while the blinding tear-drops wet those little shoes so old, 

1 put on them a value high above their price in gold ; 
And so I lay them down again, but always turn to say — 
God bless the little feet that Jioza so stirely can not stray. 

And while I thus am standing, I almost seem to see 

Two little forms beside me, just as they used to be ' 

Two little faces lifted with their sweet and tender eyes ! 

Ah, me ! I might have known that look was born of Paradise. 

I reach my arms out fondly, but they clasp the empty air ! 

There is nothing of my darlings but the shoes they used to wesr. 



SELECTIONS. , ^ 

Oh the bitterness of parting can not be done away 

Till I see my darlings walking w^here the feet can never stray ; 

When I no more am drifted here upon the surging tide, 

But -with them safely landed there upon the river side ; 

Be patient, heart ' while waiting to see their shining way, 

For the little feet in the golden street can never go astray. 



L VI II. 

THE RIVAL ORATORS. 

AIMWELL STORIES. 

Scene — The platform of a School-room. 

Thomas Trotter, a large boy, wdth a " big voice," and Samuel Sly, a 
small boy, whose vocal organ is pitched on a high key. 

[Thomas enters and makes his bow to the audience, followed by Samuel, who 
goes through the same ceremony a little in his rear.] 

Tom {^Turning partially round?) What do you want here .'' 

Sam. I want to speak my piece, to be sure. 

T. Well, you will please to wait until I get through ; it's my 
turn now. 

S. No, 'tan't your turn, either, my learned friend; excuse 
me for contradicting, but if I do n't stick out for my rights, no- 
body else will. My turn came before that fellow's who said " his 
voice was still for war; " but I could n't think how my speech 
began then, and he got the start of me . 

T, Very well ; if you were not ready when your turn came, 
that's your fault, and not mine Go to your seat, and do n't 
bother me any more. 

S. Well, that's cool, I declare — as cool as a load of ice in 
February. Can't you ask some other favor, Mr. Trotter? 

T . Yes ; hold your tongue. 

S, Can't do that; I'm bound to get off my speech first. You 
see it's running over like a bottle of beer, and I can't keep it 
in. So here goes : 

" My name is Norval . on the Grampian Hills 
My father feeds — " 



jQq elocution. 

T. {interrupting him, commences his piece in a loud tone?) 
" Friends, Romans, countrymen ' " 

-5". Greeks, Irishmen, and fellow-sojers ! 

T. " Lend me your ears." 

S. Do n't you do it ; he's got ears enough of his own. 

T. " I come to bury Csesar, not to praise him." 

S. {^mimicing his gestures?) I come to speak my piece, and I'll 
10 it, Caesar or no Caesar. " My name is Norval — " 

T. [advancing towards Mjji ifi a threatejting attitude?) Sam 
Sly, if you do n't stop your fooling I'll put you off the stage. 

6" {retreating?) Don't, don't touch m.e Tom : you'll joggle 
my piece all out of me again. 

T. Well, then, keep still untiil I get through. {Tm-ns to the 
audience?) 

Friends, Romans, countrymen ! lend me your ears ; 
"I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him." 

vS. I say, Tommy, what are you bla-a-a-a-r-ting about ; have 
you lost your calf.? 

T. " The evil that men do lives after them, 

The good is oft interred with their bones. 
So let it be with C^sar." 

{He is again broiLght to a stand by Sam, who is standing behind 
hi?ny mimicing his gestures in a litdicrous manner?) 

Now, Sam, I tell you to stop your monkey shines ; if you 
do n't, I'll make you ! 

S. You stop spouting about Caesar, then, and let me have my 
say. You need n't think you can cheat me out of my rights be- 
cause you wear higher heeled shoes than I do. 

T. I can tell you one thing, sir — nothing but your size saves 
you from a good flogging. 

S. Well that is a queer coincidence, for I can tell you that 
nothing but your size saves yoiL from a good dose of Solomon's 
grand panacea. {To the audience?) I do n't know what can be 
done with such a long-legged fellow — he's too big to be 
whipped, and he isn't big enough to behave himself. Now, all 
keep still, and let me begin again ; " My name is Norval — " 

T. " I come to bury Caesar — " 

S. I thought you'd buried him once, good deeds, bones and 



SELECTIONS. 



i8i 



all, how many more times are you going to do it ? 

T. Sam, I'm a peaceable fellow; but if you go much further 
I won't be responsible for the consequences. 

6'. I'm for piece^ too, but its viy piece, and not your long rig- 
marole about Caesar, that I go in for. As I said before " My 
name is — " 

T. " The noble Brutus 

Hath told you Caesar was ambitious ; 
If it w^ere so, it were a grievous fault, 
And grievously hath Caesar answered it." 
S. {in a lo%v whisper?) I say, Tom, did you know you had 
got a hole in your unwhisperables.'' 

T. " Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
(For Brutus is an honorable man — 
So are they all, all honorable men,) 
Come I to speak at Caesar's funeral." 
S. This isn't Caesar's funeral — it's the exhibition of the 
Spankertown Academy, and it's my turn to ofhciate, so get out 
with Csesar — " My name is Nor — " 

T. " He was my friend, faithful and just to me ; 
But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man." 
S. Brutus be hanged ; who cares for what he said ? Come, 
you've sputtered enough ; now give me a chance to say some- 
thing. " My name is — " 

T. Come, Sammy, do n't interrupt me again, that's a clever 
fellow. Let me finish my piece, and then you shall have the 
whole platform to yourself. 

S. You are very kind, Mr. Trotter — altogether too kind ! 
Your generosity reminds me of an Irish gentleman, who couldn't 
live peaceably with his wife, and so they agreed to divide the 
house between them. " Biddy," says he, "ye '11 jist be afther 
taking the outside of the house, and I'll kape the inside." 

T. {To ike audience}) Ladies and gentlemen, you see it is 
useless for me to attempt to proceed, and I trust you will excuse 
me from performing my part. {Baws and with di- aw s}) 

S. Yes, I hope you will excuse him, ladies and gentlemen. 
The fact is, he means well enough ; but between you and me, 



jO^ ELOCUTION 

he does n't know a wheelwright from a right wheel. I m sorry 
to say his education has been sadly neglected, as you all per- 
ceive. He has n't enjoyed the advantages that I have for learn- 
ing good manners. And then did you ever hear such a ridicu- 
lous spouter ! He might make a very decent town crier, 
or auctioneer, or something of tha,t sort — but to think of 
Tommy Trotter pretending to be an orator, and delivering a fu- 
neral oration over Caesar ! Oh, my ! it's enough to make a cat 
laugh ! And, now, ladies and gentlemen, as the interruption 
has ceased, I will proceed with my part : 

" My name is Norval ; on the Grampian Hills 

My father feeds his flocks " 

And — and — and — {aside, to a boy near hivi) — what is it ? ( To 
the audience^ — " feeds his flocks '' and — and — and — there ! 
I'll be blowed if I haven't got dead stuck a'ready ! Just as I 
expected ; that lubber that came to bury Caesar has bullied all 
the ideas out of my head ! {Beats a?i inglorious retreat^ with 
his hands over his face.) 



LI X . 

THE PILOT. 

JOHN B. GOUGH. 

d John Maynard was well known m the lake district as a God- 
fearing, honest, and intelligent pilot. He was pilot on a steam- 
boat from Detroit to Buffalo. One summer afternoon — at that 
time those steamers seldom carried boats — smoke was seen 
ascending from below, and the captain called out : 
h " Simpson, go below and see what the matter is down there." 
C Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, ^ 
"Captain, the ship is on fire." 
e Then '' fire ! fire ! fire !" on shipboard. 
y*All hands were called up. Buckets of water were dashed on 

a Begin with pure voice, as in simple narrative. Increase moderately, in pitch, until 
the personation is reached, h High pitch ; orotund voice, c Pure voice; low pitch, d 
Aspirate voice, with fear e Give the; alarm of " fire" as if it was real, and in the same 
immediate vicinity. Aspirate voice , high pitch. /Puie voice ■. narrative ; increase. 



SELECTIONS. ^ q ^ 

the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of rosin and 
tar on board and it was found useless to attempt to save the 
ship. The passengers rushed forward and inquired of the pilot : 
g '' How far are we from Buffalo ?" 
1l " Seven miles." 

" How long before we can reach there.?" 

" Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam." 

" Is there any danger?" 

" Danger, here — see the smoke bursting out — go forward if 
you would save your lives." 

i Passengers and crew — men, women, and children — crowded 
the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the helm. 
The flames burst forth ni a sheet of fire ; clouds of smoke arose. 
The captain cried out through his trumpet : 
j " John Maynard !" 
k "Aye, aye, sir!" 

" Are you at the helm V 

" Aye, aye, sir !" 

" How does she head .'*" 

" South-east by east, sir." 

"Head her south-east and run her on shore," said the captain. 
I Nearer, nearer, yet nearer, she approached the shore. Again 
the captain cried out : 

" John Maynard I" 

The response came feebly this time, "Aye, aye, sir!*' 

" Can you hold on five minutes longer, John.?" he said. 

" By God's help, I will." 

The old man's hair was scorched from tiie scalp, one hand 
disabled, his knee upon the stanchion, and his teeth set, with 
his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as a rock. He 
beached the ship ; every man, woman and child was saved, as 
John ^Ma^aiard dropped, and his spirit took its flight to its God. 

(7 Aspirate voice with earnestness, /t Orotund ; low pitch, with firmness. The Pilot's 
answer will all be given m the same voice, and passengers in aspirate with increased feel- 
ing, i Narrative; pure voice, j Orotund; commanding, as if to a person at a distance ; 
high pitch, fc Orotund ; low pitch, and so change until the colloquy is ended. I Oro- 
tund ; low pitch to begin with. Change the pitch as the word nearer is repeated^ Change 
the voice in Pitch and Quality to represent the Captain and Pilot, and give the closing 
paragraph with intense feehng ; low pitch and unimpassioned utterance. 



1 84 



elocutioxn; 

LX. 

THE PILOT. 

COCHRAN. 

1. a The waves are high, the night is dark, 

Wild roam the foaming tides, 
Dashing around the straining bark, 

As gallantly she rides. 
h "Pilot ! take heed what course you steer; 

Our bark is tempest-driven ! " 
C " Stranger, be calm, there is no fear 

For him who trusts in Heaven ! " 

2. (I " O pilot ! mark yon thunder cloud, — 

The lightning's lurid rivers ; 
Hark to the wind, 'tis piping loud, — 

The mainmast bends and quivers ! 
Stay, pilot, stay, and shorten sail, 

Our stormy trysail's riven ! " 
e " Stranger, what matters calm or gale 

To him who trusts in Heaven ? " 

3. / Borne by the winds, the vessel flies 

Up to the thundering cloud, 
Now tottering low, the spray-winged seas 

Conceal the topmost shroud. 
g " Pilot, the waves break o'er us fast. 

Vainly our bark has striven ! " 
Jl " Stranger, the Lord can rule the blast, — 

Go, put thy trust in heaven ! " 

4. i Good hope ! good hope ! one little star 

Gleams o'er the waste of waters ; 
'Tis like the light reflected far 

Of Beauty's loveliest daughters ; 
j " Stranger, good hope he giveth thee, 

As he has often given ; 
Then learn this truth— whate'er maybe, 

fe To PUT THY TRUST IN HeAVEN ! " 



a One voice, (which?) 6 Another voice, (which?) c Another voice (which?) d Change 
the voice: increase, e Change ; diminish. /Pure, flr Orotund; high. 7. Orotund ; low. 
i Pure and tremor, (the tremor is given only on certain words,) with animation, j Orotund; 
full ; joyous. 7c Diminish; slow. 



SELECTIONS. 



LIBERTY AND UNION. 



185 



a 1. 1 profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily 
in view, the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the 
preservation of our federal union. It is to that union we owe 
our safety a,t home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. 
b It is to that union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever 
makes us most proud of our country. That union we reached 
only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adver- 
sity. It had Its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, 
prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign in- 
fluences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the 
dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its 
duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its 
blessings ; and although our territory has stretched out wider 
and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they 
have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to 
us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal hap- 
piness. 

C 2. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union, 
to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have 
not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the 
bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have 
not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, 
to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of 
the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in 
the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly 
bent on considering, not how the union should be preserved, 
but how tolerable might be the condition of the people, when it 
shall be broken up and destroyed. 

4Z 3. While the union lasts we have high, exciting, gratifying 
prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Be- 
yond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that 
in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that 
on my vision may never be opened what lies behind, e When 

ffl Pure voice; uneTnotinnal. h Orotund- increase. C Pure, deepened; more boldly. 
d Pure, deepened ; high pitch • joyou>. c Pure- deeptned : low pitch : grave. 



o^ ELOCUTION. 

my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in 
heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishon- 
ored fragments of a once glorious union ; on states dissevered, 
discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or 
drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble 
and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the 
republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, / still 
full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their 
original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, not a single star 
obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory 
as — g What is all this worth ? Nor those other words Jl of de- 
lusion and folly — i Liberty first and union afterward ; J but 
everywhere, spread all over, in characters of living light, blazing 
on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the 
land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other 
sentiment, dear to every true American heart, — Liberty and 
Union, now and forever, one and inseparable ! 



EXCELSIOR. 

T. €1 The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

2. h His brow was sad ; his eye beneath. 

Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, 
C And like a silver clarion rung 

The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 

3. il In happy homes he saw the light 

Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 



/Positive; higher, fir Bold ; orotund; harsh. 7^- Slightly guttural, i Full, orotund ; 
long quality slide. ;) Much animation and dignified expression with the close. 

** Moderate pitch ; pure ; narrative ; low. h Moderate ; pure, c High pitch ; increase; 
orotund on '* Excelsior." d Moderate pitch • slow 



SELECTIONS. o w 

187 



Above, the spectral glaciers shown," 

And from his lips escaped a groan, 

e Excelsior ! 

4. / '• Try not the pass !" g the old man said ; 

" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide !" 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 
]l Excelsior ! 

5. i " Oh stay," the maiden said, " and rest 

Thy weary head upon this breast !" 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, j 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

6. h " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch 

Beware the awful avalanche !" 
This was the peasant's last good-night, 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
I Excelsior ' 

7. HI At break of day, as heavenward 

The pious monks of St. Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
U A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ' 

8. O A traveler, by the faithful hound, 

Half buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ' 

g. p There in the twilight cold and gray. 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
q^ Excelsior ! 



e Low pitch; prolonged' qualit3^ /High pitch ; personation. </ Low ; narrative, ih 
High ; loud, i Moderate pitch, j Low ; prolonged. fcHigh and loud ; long quality; per- 
sonation. I High pitch : head tone ; ventriloquial ; requiring much practice, tvh Moder- 
ate ; narrative, n High ; quick ; increase, o Moderate ; narrative ; slow, p Moder- 
ate ; slow time, q High pitch ; terminating low ; diminish. 



jgg ELOCUTION. 

LX III . 

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

1. a Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 
h " Forward, the Light Brigade ! 

" Charge for the guns !" he said ; 
C Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 

2. d " Forward, the Light Brigade !" 

Was there a man dismay'd ? 
Not though the soldier knew 

Some one had blunder'd : 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why. 
Theirs but to do and die. 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

3. e Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon in front of them 

Volley'd and thunder'd , 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well. 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell 

Rode the six hundred. 

4. f Flash'd all their sabres bare, 

Flash'd as they turn'd in air, 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wonder'd : 
Plunged in the battery-smoke. 
Right through the line they broke ; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 



a Narrative; pure voice ; increase. 6 Personation; orotund; high; bold, c Low 
pitch; aspirate, on the word " death." (\ Orotund ; high ; increase through the stanza. 
e Bold ; orotund ; measured. / Guttural ; full of passion and action, as if in battle. 



SELECTIONS. 

Shatter'd and sunder'd. 
Then they rode back, but not, 
Not the six hundred. 

. g Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them 

Volley'd and thunder'd ; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell. 
They that had fought so well 
Came through the jaws of Death 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them. 

Left of six hundred. 

1l When can their glory fade ? 
Oh the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wonder'd. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble Six Hundred ! 



189 



This selection contains a compendium of the principles of 
Elocution, by a master of the art. It requires variety of voice, 
pitch, force, and time in its delivery. The student will analyze 
it: 

HAMLET'S INSTRUCTIONS. 

SHAIvESPEARE. 

Speak the speech^ I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trip- 
pingly on the tongue ; but if you nioiith it, as many of your 
players do, I had as lief the tow7i crier spoke my lines. Nor do 
not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but use all 
gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) 
whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a tem- 
perance that may give it smoothness. Oh it offends me to the 

g Orotund ; moderate, li Pure tone ; joyous ; long quality ; orotund on the last words. 



ELOCUTION. 

soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to 
tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, 
for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexpHcable dumb 
shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped foro'er- 
doing Termagant ; it out-herods Herod ; pray you avoid it. 

Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your 
tutor : suit the action to the Vv^ord, the word to the action, with 
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of 
nature ; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of play- 
ing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, 
as 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own 
feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the 
time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come 
tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, can not but make 
the judicious grieve ; the censure of the which one must, in 
your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theater of others. Oh there 
be players that I have seen play, — and heard others praise, and 
that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the 
accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, or Turk, 
have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of 
Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, 
they imitated humanity so abominably. 



DEFINITION OF ELOQUENCE. 

WEBSTER. 

When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa- 
sions, when great interests are at stake, and strongpassions excited 
nothing is valuable in speech, farther than it is connected with 
high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and 
earnestness are the qualities which produce conviction. True 
eloquence indeed does not consist in speech ; it can not be 
brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they 
toil for it in vain : words and phrases may be marshaled in 



SELECTIONS. jqj 

every way, but they can not compass it : it must exist in the 
man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, in- 
tense expression, the pomp of declamation, — all may aspire after 
it ; they can not reach it : it comes, if it come at all, like the out- 
breaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of 
volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. 



ODE ON THE PASSIONS. 
William Collins. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell. 
Thronged around her magic cell, — 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, — 
Possessed beyond the ]\Iuse's painting ; 
By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired. 
Filled with fury, rapt, mspired. 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound ; 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
Each — for madness ruled the hour — 
Would pi-ove his own expressive power. 

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 
Amid the chords bewildered laid, 

_And back recoiled, he knew not why, 
E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next, Anger rushed, his eyes, on fire, 
In lightnings owned his secret stings : 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre. 

And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. 

With woful measures, vran Despair — 
Low sullen sounds — his grief beguiled : 



192 



ELOCb'TlON. 



A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 

'T was sad, by fits, by starts, 't was wild. 

But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delightful measure ? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 

She called on Echo still through all her song ; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 

And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, 

Revenge impatient rose. 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down ; 
And, with a withering look, 
. The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast, so loud and dread. 

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
And, ever and anon, he beat, 
The doubling drum with furious heat, 
And though sometimes, each dreary pause between. 
Dejected Pity, at his side, 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien ; 
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. 

Thy numbers, jealousy, to naught were fixed ! 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed : 

And now it courted Love — ■ now, raving, called on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
Pale melancholy sat retired ; 
And, from her wild sequestered seat. 
In notes, by distance made more sweet, 
Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 

And, dashing soft, from rocks around, 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole : 

Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay — 
Round a holy calm diffusing, 
Love of peace, and lonely musing — 

In hollow murmurs died away. 



SELECTIONS. 
LX VII . 

THE BRIDES OF ENDERBY : OR, THE HIGH TIDE. 

JEAN INGELOW. 

The old mayor climed the belfry tower, 

The ringers ran by two, by three ! 
" Pull, if ye never pulled before ; 

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth .he, 
" Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! 
Ply all your changes, all your swells, 

Play uppe ' The Brides of Enderby.' " 

Men say it was a stolen tyde — 

The Lord that sent it, he knows all ; 
But in myne ears doth still abide 

The message that the bells let fall : 
And there was naught of strange, beside 
The flights of mews and peewits pied 

By millions crouched on the old sea wall. 

I sat and spun within the doore, 

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; 

The level sun, like ruddy ore. 
Lay sinking in the barren skies ; 

And dark against day's golden death 

She moved where Lindis wandereth, — 

My Sonne's faire wife. Elizabeth. 

" Cusha ! Cusha I Cusha I" calling, 
Ere the early dews were falling ; 
Farre away I heard her song. 
" Cusha ! Cusha !" all along ; 
Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 

Floweth, floweth, 
From the meads where melick groweth, 
Faintly came her milking song. 

"Cusha! Cusha I Cusha!" calling, 
" For the dews will soone be falling; 
Leave your meadow grasses mellow. 

Mellow, mellow ; 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
C^^ome uppe Whitefoot, come up Lightfoot ; 
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow ; 

Hollow, hollow ; 



194 



ELOCUTION. 

Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow^ 
• From the clovers lift your head ; 
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, 
Jetty, to the milking shed. 

If it be long, aye, long ago. 

When I beginne to think howe long, 

Againe I hear the Lindis flow. 

Swift as an arrow e, sharpe and strong, 

And all the air ic seemeth mee 

Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), 

That ring the tune of Enderby. 

Alle fresh the level pasture lay. 
And not a shadowe mote be seene, 

Save where full fyve good miles away 

The steeple towered from out the greene : 

And lo ' the great bell farre and wide 

Was heard in all the country side 

That Saturday at eventide. 

Then some looked uppe into the sky, 
And all along where Lindis flows. 

To where the goodly vessels lie, 

And where the lordly steeple shows. 

They sayde, " And why should this thing be, 

What danger lowers by land or sea ? 

They ring the tune of Enderby ! 

■" For evil news from Mablethorpe, 
Of pyrate galleys warping down ; 
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 

They have not spared to wake the towne : 
But while the west bin red to see, 
And storms be none, and pyrates flee, 
Why ring "The Brides of Enderby ?' " 

I looked without, and lo ! my sonne 

Came riding downe with might and main : 

He raised a shout as he drew on. 
Till all the welkin rang again, 

" Elizabeth ! Elizabeth I " 

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 

The old sea wall " (he cryed) " is downe, 
The rising tide comes on apace, 



SELECTIONS. ^ 

yj 

And boats adrift in yonder .owne 

Go sailing uppe the market-place." 
He shook as one that looks on death : 
"God save you, mother !" straight he sayth ; 
" Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" 

" Good sonne, where Lindis winds away, 

With her two bairns I marked her long ; 
And ere yon bells beganne to play, 

Afar I heard hermilking-song." 
He looked across the grassy sea, 
To right, to left, " Ho, Enderby ! " 
They rang " The Brides of Enderby !" 

With that he cried and beat his breast ; 

For lo ! along the river's bed 
A mighty eygre reared his crest. 

And up the Lindis raging sped. 
It swept with thunderous noises loud, — 
Shaped like a curling, snow-white cloud. 
Or like a demon in a shroud. 

And rearing Lindis, backward pressed. 

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; 
Then madly at the eygre's breast 

Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 
Then bankes came down with ruin and rout — 
Then beaten foam flew round about — 
Then all the mighty floods were out. 

So farre, so fast, the eygre drave. 

The heart had hardly time to beat, 
Before a shallow, seething wave 

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet : 
The feet had hardly time to flee 
Before it brake against the knee. 
And all the world was in the sea. 

Upon the roofe we sate that night, 

The noise of bells went sweeping by : 
I marked the lofty beacon light 

Stream from the church tower, red and high — 
A lurid mark, and dread to see ; 
And awesome bells they were to mee, 
That in the dark rang " Enderby." 

They rang the sailor lads to guide 

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; 



196 



ELOCUTION. 

And I, — my sonne was at my side, 

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; 
And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 
" Oh come in life, or come in death ! 
" Oh lost ! my love, Elizabeth." 

And didst thou visit him no more ? 

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare ; 
The waters laid thee at his doore, 

Ere yet the early dawn was clear. 
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, 
The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
Down drifted to thy dwelling place. 

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, 
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea ; 

A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! 

To manye more than myne and me : 

But each will mourn his own (she sayth). 

And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth, 

I shall never hear her more 
By the reedy Lindis shore, 
" Cusha, Cusha, Cusha !" calling, 
Ere the early dews be falling ; 
I shall never hear her song, 
"Cusha, Cusha!" all along. 
Where the sunny Lindis floweth, 

Goeth, floweth ; 
From the meads v/here melick groweth,. 
When the water, winding down. 
Onward floweth to the town. 
I shall never see her more 
Where the reeds and rushes quiver, 

Shiver, quiver ; 
Stand beside the sobbing river, — 
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling. 
To the sandy, lonesome shore ; 
I shall never hear her calling. 
" Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow, mellow ; 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot ; 
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow ; 

Hollow, liollow ; 



SELECTIONS. ^^^ 

Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow ; 

Lightfoot, Whitefoot, 
From the clovers lift your head ; 
Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, 
Jetty, to the milking shed." 



L X V I I I . 

THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN. 

WILL M. CARLETON. 

They've got a bran new organ, Sue, 

For all their fuss and search ; 
They've done just as they said they'd do,. 

And fetched it into church. 
They're bound the critter shall be seen. 

And on the preacher's right, 
They've hoisted up their new machine 

In everybody's sight. 
They've got a chorister and choir, 

Ag'in MY voice and vote ; 
For it was never my desire 

To praise the Lord by nt)te ! 

I've been a sister good an' true, 

For five an' thirty year ; 
I've done what seemed my part to do. 

An' prayed my duty clear ; 
I've sung the hymns both slow and quick, 

Just as the preacher read, 
And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, 

I took the fork an' led ! 
And now, their bold, new-fangled ways 

Is comin' all about ; 
And I, right in my latter days. 

Am fairly crowded out ! 

To-day the preacher, good old dear, 

With tears all in his eyes. 
Read " I can read my title clear 

To mansions in the skies." 
I al'ays liked that blessed hymn — 

I s'pose I al'ays will ; 



198 



ELOCUTION. 

It somehow gratifies MY whim 

In good old Ortonville ; 
But when that choir got up to sing, 

I couldn't catch a word ; 
They sung the most dog-gonedest thing^ 

A body ever heard ! 

Some worldly chaps was standin' near, 
• An' when I seed them grin, 
" I bid farewell to every fear," 

And boldly waded in, 
I thought I'd chase their tune along, 

An' tried with all my might ; 
But though my voice is good and strong,. 

I couldn't steer it right. 
When they was high, then I was low, 

An' also contra'wise ; 
And I too fast, or they too slow, 

To " mansions in the skies." 

An' after every verse, you know, 

They play a little tune ; 
I didn't understand, an' so 

I started in too soon. 
I pitched it pr'tty middlin' high, 

I fetched a lusty tone, 
But oh, alas ! I found that I 

Was singin' there alone ! 
They laughed a little, I am told ; 

But I had done my best ; 
And " not a wave of trouble rolled 

Across my peaceful breast." 

And sister Brown — I could but look — 

She sits right front of me ; 
She never was no singin' book, 

An' never went to be ; 
But then she al'ays tried to do 

The best she could, she said ; 
She understood the time, right through, 

An' kep' it with her head ; 
But when she tried this mornin', oh, 

I had to laugh, or cough ! 
It kep' her head a bobbin' so, 

It e'en a'most came off,' 



SELECTIONS. ^ 

An' Deacon Tubbs — he all broke down. 

As one might well suppoae ; 
He took one look at Sister Brown, 

And meekly scratched his nose. 
He looked his hymn-book through and througli 

And laid it on the seat, 
And then a pensive sigh he drew, 

And looked completely beat. 
An' when they took another bout, 

He didn't even rise ; 
But drawed his x-ed bandanner out, 

An' " v/iped his weepin' eyes." 

I've been a sister, good an' true, 

For five an' thirty year ; 
I've done what seemed my part to do, 

An' prayed my duty clear ; 
But death will stop my voice I know, 

For he is on my track ; 
And some day I to church will go, 

And never more come back. 
And when the folks get up to sing — 

Whene'er that time shall be — 
I do not want no PATENT thing 

A squealin' over me ! 



L XI X. 

BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 

1. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 

As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

2. We buried him darkly at dead of night. 

The sods with our bayonets turning ; 
By the struggling moon-beam's misty light, 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

3. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we wound him ; 
But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him. 



200 



ELOCUTION 

4. Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

5. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, ' 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 
And we far away on the billow. 

6. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone. 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

7. But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock tolled the hour for retiring ; 
And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was suddenly firing. 

8. Slowly and sadly we laid him down. 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 
But we left him alone with his glory. 



THE LOST HEIR. 

" Oh where, and oh where 

Is my bonnie laddie gone !" — Old Song. — Hood. 

One day, as I was going by 

That part of Holborn christened High, 

I heard a loud and sudden cry 

That chill'd my very blood ; 
And lo ! from out a dirty alley, 
Where pigs and Irish wont to rally, 
I saw a crazy woman sally, 

Bedaubed with grease and mud. 
She turned her East, she turned her West, 

Staring like Pythoness possest, _ 

With streaming hair and heaving breast. 

As one stark mad with grief. 
This way and that she wildly ran, 



SELECTIONS. ^^ 

20I 

Jostling \vith woman and with man — 
Her right hand, held a frying-pan, 

The left a lump of beef. 
At last her frenzy seemed to reach 
A point just capable of speech, 
And with a tone, almost a screech, 

As wild as ocean birds. 
Or female Ranter moved to preach, 

She gave her " sorrow words." 

" O Lord ! O dear, my heart will break, I shall go stick stark staring wild ! 
Has ever a one seen any thing about the streets like a crying lost-lool^ng 

child ? 
Lawk help me, I don't know where to look, or to run, if I only knew which 

way — 
A Child as is lost about London streets, and especially Seven Dials, is a 

needle in a bottle of hay. 
I am all in a quiver — get out of my sight, do, you wretch, you little Kitty 

M'Nab ! 
You promised to have half an eye to him, you know you did, you dirty de- 
ceitful young drab. 
The last time as ever I see him, poor thing, was with my own blessed 

Motherly eyes. 
Sitting as good as gold in the gutter, a playing at making little dirt pies. 
I wonder he left the court, where he was better off than all the other young 

boys, 
With two bricks, an old shoe, nine oyster-shells, and a dead kitten by way 

of toys. 
When his Father comes home, and he always comes home as sure as ever the 

clock strikes one. 
He'll be rampant, he will, at his child being lost ; and the beef and the inguns 

not done ! 
La bless you, good folks, mind your own concarns, and don't be making a 

mob in the street ; 
O Serjeant M'Farlane ! you have not come across my poor little boy, have 

you, in your beat? 
Do, good people, move on ! don't stand staring at me like a parcel of stupid 

stuck pigs ; 
Saints forbid ! but he's p'r'aps been inviggled away up a court for the sake of 

his clothes by the priggs ; 
He'd a very- good jacket, for certain, for I bought it myself for a shilling one 

day in Rag Fair ; 
And his trowsers considering not ver\' much patched, and red plush, they 

was once his Father's best pair. 



202 



ELOCUTION. 



His shirt, it's very lucky I'd got washing in the tub, or that might have gone 

with the rest ; 
But he'd got on a veiy good pinafore with only two slits and a burn on the 

breast. 
He'd a goodish sort of hat, if the crown was sew'd in, and not quite so much 

jagged at the brim. 
With one shoe on, and the other shoe is a boot, and not a fit, and you'll 

know by that if it's him. 
Except being so well dressed, my mind M'ould misgive, some old beggar 

woman in want of an orphan 
Had borrowed the child to go a begging with ; but I'd rather see him laid 

out in his coffin ! 
Do, good people, move on ; such a rabble of boys ! I'll break every bone of 

'em I come near ; 
Go home — you're spilling the porter — -go home — Tommy Jones, go along 

with your beer. 
This day is the sorrowfullest day of my life, ever since my name was Betty 

Morgan, 
Them vile Savoyards ! they lost him once before all along of following a 

Monkey and an Organ : 
O my Billy — my head will turn right round — if he's got kiddynapp'd with 

them Italians 
They'll make him a plaster parish image boy, they will, the outlandish tatter- 
demalions. 
Billy — where are you, Billy? — I'm as hoarse as a crow, with screaming for ye, 

you young sorrow ! 
And sha'n't have half a voice, no more I sha'n't, for crying fresh herrings to- 
morrow. 

Billy, you're bursting my heart in two, and my life won't be of no more 

vally. 

If I'm to see other folks darlins, and none of mine, playing like angels in our 
alley. 

And what shall I do but cry out my eyes, when I looks at the old three- 
legged chair 

As Billy used to make coach and horses of, and there ain't no Billy there ! 

1 would run all the wide world over to find him, if I only knowed where to 

run ; 
Little Murphy, now I remember, was once lost for a month through stealing 

a penny-bun — 
The Lord forbid of any child of mine ! I think it would kill me raily 
To find my Bill holdin' up his little innocent hand at the Old Bailey. 
For though I say it as ought n't, yet I will say, you may search for miles and 

mileses 
And not find one better brought up, and more pretty behaved, from one end 

to t' other of St. Giles's. 



SELECTIONS. ^^^ 

And if I called him a beauty, it's no lie, but only as a Mother ought to speak ; 
You never set eyes on a more handsomer face, only it has n't been washed for 

a week ; 
As for hair, tho' it's red, it's the most nicest hair when I've time to just show 

it the comb ; 
I'll owe 'em five pounds, and a blessing besides, as will only bring him safe 

and sound home. 
He's blue eyes, and not to be called a squint, though a little cast he's cer- 
tainly got ; 
And his nose is still a good un' tho' the bridge is broke, by his falling on a 

pewter pint pot ; 
He's got the most elegant wide mouth in the worl'd, and very large teeth for 

his age : 
And quite as fit as Mrs. Murdockson's child to play Cupid on the Drury 

Lane Stage. 
And then he has got such dear winning ways — but oh I never, never shall 

see him no more ! 
O dear '. to think of losing him just after nussing him back from death's door ! 
Only the very last month when the windfalls, hang 'em, was at twenty a 

penny '. 
And the threepence he'd got by grottoing was spent in plums, and sixty for a 

child is too many, 
And the Cholera man came and whitewashed us all, and, drat him! made a 

seize of our hog. — 
It's no use to send the Cryer to cry him about, he's such a blunderin' drunken 

old dog ; 
The last time he was fetched to find a lost child, he was guzzling with his 

bell at the Crown, 
And went and cried a boy instead of a girl, for a distracted Mother and Fa- 
ther about Town. 
Billy—where are you, Billy, I say? come, Billy, come home, to your best of 

Mothers ' 
I'm scared when I think of them Cabroleys, they drive so, they'd run over 

their own Sisters and Brothers. 
Or may be he's stole by some chimbly-sweeping wretch, to stick fast m nar- 

row flues, and what not, 
And be poked up behmd with a picked pointed pole, when the soot ha. 

ketched, and the chimbly's red hot. 
Oh I'd give the whole wide world, if the world was mine, to clap my two 

longin' eves on his face. 
For he's my darlm of darlins, and if he don't soon come back, you 11 see me 

drop stone dead on the place. •, , , t i, 

I only wish I'd got him safe in these two Motherly arms, and wouldn t I hug 

him and kiss him ! 



204 . ELOCUTION. 

Lawk ! I never knew what a precious he was — but a child don't not feel like 

a child till you miss him. 
Why, there he is ' Punch and Judy hunting, the young wretch, it's that Billy 

as sartin as sin ' 
But let me get him home, with a good gri^D of his hair, and I'm blest if he 

shall have a whole bone in his skin i 



AFTER SCHOOL. 

The blackboard stands covered with symbols, 

The crayons lie idle beside. 
And the yellow leaved volumes around me 

Hold silent the truths which they hide. 
There's a hush which is wholly unbroken, 

Except by the pendulum's tone, 
While the clock on the wall is repeating, 

*' The teacher is left alone ! " 

Alone. Not a loiterer lingers ; 

The school-room is vacant at last ; 
But the shadows hang thick round the corners, 

And daylight is vanishing fast. 
Alone. Even Charlie has left me — 

But he went away angry, I know ; 
For I heard the door slamming behind him. 

Soon after I said, " You may go." 

His lesson was only half finished. 

And yet he is active and bright, 
So I kept him full sixty long minutes. 

To learn it more fully to-night. 
I tried to explain every bearing 

Of pyramid, prism, and cone ; 
But Charlie was angry and restless, 

And so I was working alone. 

I know that the chime of the sleigh bells 
Brought frowns for his lesson and me ; 

And so he went homeward this evening 
As angry as angry could be. 

"Tick, tick!" calls the clock just above me. 



SELECTIONS. 

And the walls re-echo the sound — 
The house is so empty and ghost-like, 

With never a pupil around — 
And I press my hand to a forehead 

That's throbbing with heat and with pain, 
And wonder if all of my labor 

Will finally be in vain. 
Will Mary, who now is so thoughtless, 

And whispers and troubles me so. 
Be one day more thoughtful and gentle 

Because of the seeds which I sov/? 

W^ill Charlie be braver and bolder, 

More strong in life's battles so near? 
Will he conquer more nobly and grandly 

For the armor I'm fitting him here ? 
It may be he'll vanquish the error, 

And marshal the ranks of right 
On the glorious field of the victor. 

One day, for the work of to-night. 

If so, I will count myself happy, 

That work is a labor of love 
Which leads to a glorious future, 

That ends in the rest above. 



BUZFUZ VERSUS PICKWICK. 

CHARLES DICKENS. 

I. You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen of the 
jury, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, 
in which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The 
plaintiff, gentlemen, is a widow — yes, gentlemen, a widow. 
The late Mr. Bardell, some time before his death, became the 
father, gentlemen, of a little boy. With this little boy, the only 
pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from 
the world, and courted the retirement and tranquility of Gos- 
well street ; and here she placed in her front parlor window a 
written placard, bearing this inscription : " Apartments, fur- 



2o6 



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nished, for a single gentleman. Inquire within." IMrs. Bar- 
dell's opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from 
a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities of her lost 
husband. She had no fear — she had no distrust — all was con- 
fidence and reliance. " Mr. Bardell," said the widow, '" was a 
man of honor, — Mr. Bardell was a man of his word, — Mr. Bar- 
dell was no deceiver, — Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman 
himself; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assist- 
ance, for comfort, and for consolation ; — in single j^entlemen I 
shall perpetually see some thing to remind me of what Mr. Bar- 
dell was, when he first won my young and untried affections ; 
to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." 

2. Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse, (among 
the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen,) the 
lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first 
floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put 
the bill up in her parlor window. Did it remain there long ? 
No. The serpent was on the watch ; the train was laid ; the 
mine was preparing ; the sapper and miner was at work ! Be- 
fore the bill had been in the parlor window three days — three 
days, gentlemen — a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all 
the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked 
at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He inquired v/ithin ; he 
took the lodgings ; and on the very next day, he entered into 
possession of them. This man was Pickwick— Pickwick the 
defendant. 

3. Of this man I will say little. The subject presents but few 
attractions ; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, 
gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolt- 
ing heartlessness, and of systematic villainy. I say systematic 
villainy, gentlemen ; and when I say systematic villainy, let me 
tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am informed 
he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becom- 
ing, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, further, that a 
counsel, in the discharge of his duty, is neither to be intimidated, 
nor bullied, nor put down ; and that any attempt to do either 
the one or the other will recoil on the head of the attempter, be 



SELECTIONS. ^ 

he i^laintiff, or be he defendant ; be his name Pickwick, or 
Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson. 

4. I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick 
continued to reside constantly, and without any interruption 
or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that 
Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, at- 
tended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen 
for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and 
prepared it for wear when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed 
his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that on many 
occasions he gave half-pence, and on some occasions even six- 
pences, to her little boy. I shall prove to you that on one oc- 
casion, when he returned from the country, he distinctly and 
in terms offered her marriage ; previously, however, taking 
special care that there should be no witness to their solemn 
contract. And I am in a situation to prove to you, on the testi- 
mony of three of his own friends — most unwilling witnesses, 
gentlemen — most unwilling witnesses — that on that morning, 
he was discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, 
and soothing her agitation by his caresses and endearments. 

And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have 
passed between these parties — letters that must be viewed 
with a cautious and suspicious eye — letters that were evidently 
intended, at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any 
third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let me read 
the first : — " Garraway's, twelve o'clock. — Dear Mrs. B.: Chops 
and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does 
this mean ? Chops and tomato sauce I Yours^ Pickwick ! Chops ! 
— gracious heavens ! — and tomato sauce ! Gentlemen, is the hap- 
piness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by 
such shallow artifices as these .^ The next has no date whatever, 
which is in itself suspicious. " Dear Mrs. B.: I shall not be at 
home till to-morrow. Slow coach." And then follows this very 
remarkable expression — " Don't trouble yourself about the 
warming-pan." The warming-pan ! Why, gentlemen, who does 
trouble himself about a warming-pan } Why is Mrs. Bardell so 
earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this warming- 
pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hid- 



208 



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den fire — a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, 
agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully 
contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated deser- 
tion ? And what does this allusion to the slow coach mean ? 
For aught I know it may be a reference to Pickwick himself, 
who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow coach 
during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will now 
be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentle- 
men, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased by 
you. 

6. But enough of this, gentlemen. It is difficult to smile 
with an aching heart. My client's hopes and prospects are 
ruined ; and it is no figure of speech to say that her " occupa- 
tion is gone " indeed. The bill is down ; but there is no tenant. 
Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass ; but there is no invi- 
tation for them to inquire within or without. All is gloom and 
silence in the house : even the voice of the child is hushed ; 
his infant sports are disregarded, when his mother weeps. But 
Pickwick, gentlemen — Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this 
domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell street — Pickwick, who 
has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward — Pick- 
wick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato 
sauce and warming-pans — Pickwick still rears his head with 
unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he 
has made ! Damages, gentlemen, heavy damages, is the only 
punishment with which you can visit him — the only recompense 
you can award to my client. And for those damages she now 
appeals to an enlightened, a high minded, a right-feeling, a con- 
scientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative jury 
of her civilized countrymen. 



SELECTIONS. 



209 



LX XIII. 

DRIFTING. 

THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 



My soul to-day 
Is far away, 
Sailing the Vesuvian bay ; 
My winged boat, 
A bird afloat, 



This day so mild 
Is Heaven's own child, 
With Earth and Ocean reconciled ; 
The airs I feel 
Around me steal 



Swims round the purple peaks remote: Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. 



b 



Round purple peaks 

It sails, and seeks 
Blue inlets and their crystal creeks ; 

Where high rocks throw 

Through deeps below, 
A duplicated golden glow. 

Far, vague, and dim 
The mountains swim ; 

While on Vesuvius' misty brim. 

With outstretched hands, 
The grey smoke stands, 

O erlooking the volcanic lands. 

Here Ischia smiles 

O'er liquid miles ; 
And yonder, bluest of the isles. 

Calm Capri waits. 

Her sapphire gates 
Beguiling to her bright estates. 

I heed not if 

jNIy rippling skiff 
Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Under the walls of Paradise. 

Under the walls, 

Where swells and falls 
The Bay's deep breast at intervals, 

At peace I lie, 

Blown softly by, 
A cloud upon this liquid sky. 



Over the rail 

My hand I trail 
W^ithin the shadow of the sail, 

A joy intense. 

The cooling sense 
Glides down my drowsy indolence : 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Where summer sings and never dies — 

O'erveiled with vines 

She grows and shines 
Among her future oil and wines : 

Her children, hid 

The cliffs amid. 
Are gamboling with the gamboling kid; 

Or down the walls, 

W^ith tipsy calls, 
Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. 

The fisher's child. 

With tresses wild, 
Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, 

W^ith glowing lips 

Sings as she skips. 
Or gazes at the far off ships. 

Yon deep bark goes 

Where traffic blows 
From lands of sun to lands of snows ; 

This happier one. 

Its course is run 
From lands of snow to lands of sun. 



^ ELOCUTION. 

Oh ! happy ship No more, no more, 

To ride and dip This worldly shore 

With blue crystal at your lip ! Upbraids me with its wild uproar ; 
Oh ! happy crew, With dreamful eyes 

My heart with you My spirit lies 

Sails, and sails, and sings anev/ ! Under the walls of Paradise. 



LXXl V. 

THE STORY OF RICHARD DOUBLEDICK. 

In the year one thousand seven hundred and nmety-nine, a 
relative of mine came limping down, on foot, to this town of 
Chatham. I call it this town, because if anybody present 
knows to a nicety where Rochester ends and Chatham begins, 
it is more than I do. He was a poor traveler, with not a farth- 
ing in his pocket. He sat by the fire in this very room, and he 
slept one night in a bed that will be occupied to-night by some 
one here. 

My relative came down to Chatham to enlist in a cavalry 
regiment, if a cavalry regiment would have him ; if not, to take 
King George's shilling from any corporal or sergeant who 
would put a bunch of ribbons in his hat. His object was to get 
shot ; but he thought he might as well ride to death as be at 
the trouble of walking. 

My relative's Christian name was Richard, but he was better 
known as Dick. He dropped his own surname on the road 
down, and took up that of Doubledick. He was passed as 
Richard Doubledick ; age, twenty-two ; height, five foot ten ; 
native place, Exmouth, which he had never been near in his 
life. There was no cavalry in Chatham when he limped over 
the bridge here with half a shoe to his dusty foot, so he enlisted 
into a regiment of the line, and was glad to get drunk and for- 
get all about it. 

You are to know that this relative of mine had gone wrong, 
and run wild. His heart was in the right place, but it was 
sealed up. He had been betrothed to a good and beautiful 
girl, whom he had loved better than she — or perhaps even he — 



SELECTIONS. 2X1 

believed ; but in an evil hour he had given her cause to say to 
him solemnly, " Richard, I will never marry any other man. 
I will live single for your sake, but Mary Marshall's lips" — her 
name was Mary Marshall — " never address another w^ord to you 
on earth. Go, Richard ! Heaven forgive you!" This finished 
him. This brought him down to Chatham. This made him 
Private Richard Doubledick, with a determination to be shot. 

There was not a more dissipated and reckless soldier in 
Chatham barracks, in the year one thousand seven hundred and 
ninety-nine than Private Richard Doubledick. He associated 
with the dregs of every regiment ; he was as seldom sober as he 
could be, and was constantly under punishment. It became 
clear to the whole barracks that Private Richard Doubledick 
would very soon be flogged. 

Now the captain of Richard Doubledick's company was a 
young gentleman not above five years his senior, whose eyes 
had an expression in them which affected Private Richard 
Doubledick in a very remarkable way. They were bright, 
handsome, dark eyes, — what are called laughing eyes generally, 
and, when serious, rather steady than severe, — but they were 
the only eyes now left in his narrowed world that Private Rich- 
ard Doubledick could not stand. Unabashed by evil report and 
punishment, defiant of everything else, and everybody else, he 
had but to know that those eyes looked at him for a moment, 
and he felt ashamed. He could not so much as salute Captain 
Taunton in the street like any other officer. He was reproached 
and confused, — troubled by the mere possibility of the cap- 
tain's looking at him. In his worst moments, he would rather 
turn back, and go any distance out of his way, than encounter 
those two handsome, dark, bright eyes. 

One day when Private Richard Doubledick came out of the 
Black hole, where he had been passing the last eight-and-forty 
hours, and in which retreat he spent a good deal of his time, 
he was ordered to betake himself to Captain Taunton's quarters. 
In the stale and squalid state of a man just out of the Black 
hole, he had less fancy than ever for being seen by the Captain ; 
but he was not so mad yet as to disobey orders, and consequent- 
ly went up to the terrace overlooking the parade-ground, where 



ELOCUTION. 

the officers' quarters were : twisting and breaking in his hands, 
as he went along, a bit of the straw that had formed the decora- 
tive furniture of the Black hole. 

"Come in!" cried the Captain, when he knocked with his 
knuckles at the door. Private Richard Doubledick pulled off 
his cap, took a stride forward, and felt very conscious that he 
stood in the light of the dark, bright eyes. 

There was a silent pause. Private Richard Doubledick had 
put the straw in his mouth, and was gradually doubling it up 
into his windpipe and choking himself. 

" Doubledick," said the Captain, " do you know where you 
are going to.^" 

" To the Devil, sir?" faltered Doubledick. 

"Yes," returned the Captain. "And very fast." 

Private Richard Doubledick turned the straw of the Black 
nole in his mouth, and made a miserable salute of acquiescence. 

"Doubledick," said the Captain, " since I entered his Majes- 
ty's service, a boy of seventeen, I have been pained to see many 
men of promise going that road ; but I have never been so 
pained to see a man determined to make the shameful journey 
as I have been, ever since you joined the regiment, to see you." 

Private Richard Doubledick began to find a film stealing over 
the floor at which he looked ; also to find the legs of the Cap- 
tain's breakfast-table turning crooked, as if he saw them through 
water. 

" I am only a common soldier, sir," said he. "It signifies 
very little what such a poor brute comes to." 

"You are a man," returned the Captain, with grave indigna- 
tion, " of education and superior advantages ; and if you say 
that, meaning what you say, you have sunk lower than I had 
believed. How low that must be, I leave you to consider, 
knowing what I know of your disgrace, and seeing what I see." 

" I hope to get shot soon, sir," said Private Richard Double- 
dick ; " and then the regiment and the world together will be 
rid of me." 

The legs of the table were becoming very crooked. Double- 
dick, looking up to steady his vision, met the eyes that had so 



SELECTIONS. 

213 

Strong an influence over him. He put his hand before his own 
eyes, and the breast of his disgrace-jacket swelled as if it would 
fly asunder. 

" I would rather," said the young Captain, " see this in you, 
Doubledick, than I would see five thousand guineas counted out 
upon this table for a gift to my good mother. Have you a 
mother V 

"I am thankful to say she is dead, sir." 

"If your praises," returned the Captain, "were sounded from 
mouth to mouth through the whole regmient, through the whole 
army, through the whole country, you would wish she had lived 
to say, with pride and joy, ' He is my son !' " 

" Spare me, sir," said Doubledick. " She would never have 
heard any good of me. She would never have had any pride 
and joy in owning herself my mother. Love and compassion 
she might have had, and would have always had, I know ; but 
not — Spare me, sir! I am a broken wretch, quite at your 
mercy !" And he turned his face to the wall, and stretched out 
his imploring hand. 

" My friend — " began the Captain. 

" God bless you, sir!" sobbed Private Richard Doubledick. 

"You are at the crisis of your fate. Hold your course un- 
changed a little longer, and you know what must happen. / 
know even better than you can imagine, that, after that has 
happened, you are lost. No man who could shed those tears 
could bear those marks." 

" I fully believe it, sir," in a low, shivering voice, said Private 
Richard Doubledick. 

" But a man in any station can do his duty," said the young 
Captain, " and, in doing it, can earn his own respect, even if 
his case should be so very unfortunate and so very rare that 
he can earn no other man's. A common soldier, poor brute 
though you called him just nov/, has this advantage in the 
stormy times we live in, that he always does his duty before a 
host of sympathizing witnesses. Do you doubt that he may so 
do it as to be extolled through a whole regiment, through a 
whole army, through a whole country } Turn while you may 
yet retrieve the past, and try." 



^ J . ELOCUTION. 

" I will ! I ask for only one witness, sir," cried Richard, 
with a bursting heart. 

" I understand you. I will be a watchful and a faithful one." 

I have heard from Private Richard Doubledick's own lips, 
that he dropped down upon his knee, kissed that officer's hand, 
arose, and went out of the light of the dark, bright eyes, an 
altered mr.n. 

In that year, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, 
the French were in Egypt, in Italy, in Germany, where not ? 
Napoleon Bonaparte had likewise begun to stir against us in 
India, and most men could read the signs of the great troubles 
that were coming on. In the very next year, when we formed 
an alliance with Austria against him, Captain Taunton's regi- 
ment w^as on service in India. And there was not a finer non- 
commissioned officer in it — -no, nor in the vv^hole line — than 
Corporal Richard Doubledick. 

In eighteen hundred and one, the Indian army were on the 
coast of Egypt. Next year was the year of the proclamation of 
the short peace, and they were recalled. It had then become 
well known to thousands of men, that wherever Captain Taun- 
ton, with the dark, bright eyes, led, there, close to him, ever at 
his side, firm as a rock, true as the sun, and brave as Mars, 
would be certain to be found, while life beat in their hearts, that 
famous soldier, Sergeant Richard Doubledick. 

Eighteen hundred and five, besides being the great year of 
Trafalgar, was a year of hard fighting in India. That year saw 
such wonders done by a Sergeant-Major, who cut his way sin- 
gle-handed through a solid mass of men, recovered the colors 
of his regiment, which had been seized from the hand of a poor 
boy shot through the heart, and rescued his wounded captain, 
who was down, and in a very jungle of horses' hoofs and sabres, 
— saw such wonders done, I say, by this brave Sergeant-Major, 
that he was specially made the bearer of the colors he had won ; 
and Ensign Richard Doubledick had risen from the ranks. 

Sorely cut up in every battle, but always reinforced by the 
bravest of men, — for the fame of following the old colors, shot 
through and through, which Ensign Richard Doubledick had 
saved, inspired all breasts, — this regiment fought its way through. 



SELECTIONS. ^ , - 

the Peninsular war, up to the investment of Badajos in eighteen 
hundred and twelve. Again and again it had been cheered 
through the British ranks until the tears had sprung into men's 
eyes at the mere hearing of the mighty British voice so exultant 
in their valor ; and there was not a drummer-boy but knew the 
legend, that wherever the two friends, Major Taunton, with 
the dark, bright eyes, and Ensign Richard Doubledick, who was 
devoted to him, were seen to go, there the boldest spirits in the 
English army became wild to follow. 

One day, at Badajos, — not in the great storming, but in repel- 
ling a hot sally of the besieged upon our men at work in the 
trenches, who had given way, — the two officers found them- 
selves hurrying forward, face to face, against a party of French 
infantry, who made a stand. There was an officer at their head, 
encouraging his men, — a courageous, handsome, gallant officer 
of five-and-thirty, whom Doubledick saw hurriedly, almost mo- 
mentarily, but saw well. He particularly noticed this officer 
waving his sword, and rallying his men with an eager and ex- 
cited cry, when they fired in obedience to his gesture, and Ma- 
jor Taunton dropped. 

It was over in ten minutes more, and Doubledick returned to 
the spot where he had laid the best friend man ever had on a 
coat spread upon the wet clay. Major Taunton's uniform was 
opened at the breast, and on his shirt were three little spots of 
blood. 

"Dear Doubledick," said he, "I am dying." 

" For the love of Heaven, no !" exclaimed the other, kneeling 
down beside him, and passing his arm round his neck to raise 
his head. " Taunton ! My preserver, my guardian angel, my 
witness ! Dearest, truest, kindest of human beings ! Taunton ! 
For God's sake !" 

The bright, dark eyes — so very, very dark now, in the pale 
face — smiled upon him; and the hand he had kissed thirteen 
years ago laid itself fondly on his breast. 

" Write to my mother. You will see home again. Tell her 
how we became friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts 
me." 

He spoke no more, but faintly signed for a moment towards 



^^^ ELOCUTION. 

his hair as it fluttered in the wind. The Ensign understood 
him. He smiled again when he saw that, and, gently turning 
his face over on the supporting arm as if for rest, died, with his 
hand upon the breast' in which he had revived a soul. 

No dry eye looked on Ensign Richard Doubledick that mel- 
ancholy day. He buried his friend on the field, and became a 
lone, bereaved man. Beyond his duty he appeared to have but 
two remaining cares in life, — one, to preserve the little packet 
of hair he was to give to Taunton's mother; the other, to en- 
counter that French officer who had rallied the men under 
whose fire Taunton fell. A new legend now began to circulate 
among our troops ; and it was, that when he and the French 
officer came face to face once more, there would be weeping in 
France. 



L X X v . 
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 

Thomas Gray. 

1. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 
The plowman homeward plods his weary way. 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 

3. Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower. 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade. 

Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap. 
Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 



SELECTIONS. 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return. 
Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 

7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : 
How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

S. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Await alike the inevitable hour ; 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 

If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

11. Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 

12. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant w^ith celestial fire ; 
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd. 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 

13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page. 

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 
Chill Penury repress 'd their noble rage. 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

14. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene. 

The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



217 



2l8 



ELOCUTION. 

15. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast. 

The little tyrant of his helds withstood, 
Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest ; 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of bis country's blood. 

16. The applause of listening senates to command, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a natioii's eyes, 

17. Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

18. The strugghng pangs of conscious truth to hide ; 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

19. Far from the maddening crowd's ignoble strife^ 

Their sober wishes never learned to stray; 
Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

20. Yet even these bones from insult to protect, 

Some fi-ail memorial still erected nigh. 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,. 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

21. Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 

And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness 1 prey. 

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd. 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 

23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies. 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries. 

Even in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

24. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead, 

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 



SELECTIONS. 2TQ 

If 'chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — 

25. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 

" Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

26. " There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech 

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 

And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

27. Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 

Muttering his wayward fancies, would he rove ; 
Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or cross'd ni hopeless love. 

28. '* One morn I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill, 

Along the heath, and near his favorite tree : 
Another came, — nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he ; 

29. The next, with dirges due, in sad an-ay. 

Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne : 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, 
a youth to fortune and to fame unknown: 

Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send; 
He gave to misery— all he had— a tear. 

He gain'd from heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 

No further seek his merits to disclose. 
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



220 



ELOCUTION. 
L X X V I . 

WHITER THAN SNOW. 



Oh ! the sncnv, the beautiful snow, 
Filling the sky and earth below, 
Over the housetops, over the street, 
Over the heads of the people you meet, 
Dancing, 

Flirting, 

Skimming along ; 
Beautiful snow ! it can do no wrong. 
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek, 
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak, 
Beautiful snow from the heavens above. 
Pure as an angel, gentle as love ! 

Oh ! the snow, the beautiful snow ! 
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go ; 
Whirling about in its maddening fun, 
It plays in its glee with every one. 
Chasing, 

Laughing, 

Hurrying by ; 
It lights on the face and it sparkles the eye ; 
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, 
Snap at the crystals that eddy around. 
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow, 
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow ! 

How the wild crowd goes swaying along. 
Hailing each other with humor and song ! 
How the gay sledges, like meteors, flash by. 
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye. 
Ringing, 

Swinging, 

Dashing they go 
Over the crest of the beautiful snow ; 
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, 
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by, 
To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet, 
Till it blends with the horrible filth in the street. 

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow. 

With an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow ; 



SELECTIONS. 

Once I was loved for my innocent grace — 
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face ! 
Father, 

Mother, 

Sisters all, 
God, and myself, I have lost by my fall ; 
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by 
Will make a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh. 
For all that is on or about me, I know 
There is nothing that's pure but the beautiful snow. 

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow 
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! 
How strange it would be, when the night comes again. 
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain ! 
Fainting, 

Freezing, 

Dying alone. 
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a moan 
To be heard in the crash of the crazy town, 
Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down ; 
To lie and to die in my terrible woe. 
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow. 

Helpless and foul as the trampled snow. 
Sinner, despair not ! Christ stoopeth low 
To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin, 
And raise it to life and enjoyment again. 
Groaning, 

Bleeding, 

Dying for thee. 
The Crucified hung on the accursed tree ! 
His accents of mercy fall soft on thine ear. 
" Is there mercy for me? Will he heed my weak prayer? 
" O God ! in the stream that for sinners did flow, 
AVash me, and I shall be Avhiter than snow !" 



L X X V 1 1. 

BEETHOVEN'S MOOXLIGHT SONATA, 

It happened at Bonn. One moonlight winter's evening I 
called upon Beethoven, for I v>^anted him to take a walk, and 
afterward to sup with me. In passing through some dark, nar- 



222 ELOCUTION. 

row street he paused suddenly. " Hush I " he said, " what 
sound is that ? It is from my symphony in F," he said, eagerly. 
'• Hark, how well it is played !" 

It was a little, mean dwelling ; and we paused outside and 
listened. The player went on ; but in the midst of the finale 
there was a sudden break, then the voice of sobbing. '' I can 
not play any more — it is so beautiful, it is so utterly beyond 
my power to do it justice. Oh ! what would I not give to go 
to the concert at Cologne.''" 

" Ah, my sister," said her companion, " why create regrets 
when there is ho remedy.'' We can scarcely pay our rent." 

" You are right ; and yet I wish, for once in my life, to hear 
some really good music. But it is of no use." 

Beethoven looked at me. " Let us go in," he said. 

" Go in !" I exclaimed. "What can we go in for.''" 

" I will play to her," he said in an excited tone. " Here is 
feeling — genius — understanding. I will play to her, and she 
will understand it !" And before I could prevent him, his 
hand was upon the door. 

A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes ; 
and near him, leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned 
harpsichord, sat a young girl, with a profusion of light hair 
falling over her bent face. Both were cleanly but very poorly 
dressed, and both started and turned toward us as v/e entered. 

"Pardon me," said Beethoven, "but I heard music, and was 
tempted to enter. I am a musician." 

The girl blushed, and the young man looked grave — some- 
what annoyed. 

"I — I also overheard some thing of what you said," con- 
tinued my friend. "You wish to hear — that is, you would 
like — that is — shall I play for you.?" 

There was some thing so odd in the whole affair, and some 
thing so comic and pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that 
the spell was broken in a moment, and all smiled involuntarily. 

"Thank you," said the shoemaker ; " but our harpsichord is 
so wretched, and we have no music." 

" No music !" echoed my friend. " How, then, does the frau- 
lein " 



SELECTIONS. ^^ 

He paused and colored up, for the girl looked full at him, 
and he saw that she was blind. 

"I — I entreat your pardon," he stammered; "but I had not 
perceived before. Then you play from ear ?" 

" Entirely." 

" And where do you hear the music ; since you frequent no 
concerts ?" 

" I used to hear a lady practicing near us, when we lived at 
Bruhl two years. During the summer evenings her windows 
were generally open, and I walked to and fro outside to listen 
to her." 

She seemed shy, so Beethoven said no more, but seated him- 
self quietly before the piano, and began to play. He had no 
sooner struck the first chord than I knew what would follow — 
how grand he would be that night ! And I was not mistaken. 
Never, during all the years I knew him, did I hear him play as 
he then played to that blind girl and her brother. He was in- 
spired ; and from the instant that his fingers began to wander 
along the keys, the very tone of the instrument began to grow 
sweeter and more equal. 

The brother and sister were silent with wonder and rapture. 
The former laid aside his work ; the latter, with her head bent 
slightly forward, and her hands pressed tightly over her breast, 
crouched down near the end of the harpsichord as if fearful lest 
even the beating of her heart should break the flow of those 
magical sweet sounds. It was as if we were all bound in a 
strange dream, and only feared to wake. 

Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sunk, flick- 
ered, and went out. Beethoven paused, and I threw open the 
shutters, admitting a flood of brilliant moonlight. The room 
was almost as light as before, and the illumination fell strong- 
est upon the piano and player. But the chain of his ideas 
seemed to have been broken by the accident. His head 
dropped upon his breast ; his hands rested upon his knees ; he 
seemed absorbed in meditation. It was thus for some time. 

At length the young shoemaker rose, and approaching him 
eagerly, yet reverently — "Wonderful man!" he said, in a low 
tone, " who and what are you .'*" 



^^. ELOCUTION. 

The composer smiled as he only could smile, benevolently, 
indulgently, kingly. "Listen!" he said, and he played the 
opening bars of the symphony in F. 

A cry of delight and recognition burst from them both, and 
exclaiming, "Then you are Beethoven!" they covered his hands 
with tears and kisses. 

He rose to go, but we held him back with entreaties. " Play 
to us once more — only once more !'' 

He suffered himself to be led back to the instrument. The 
moon shone brightly in through the window and lit up his glori- 
ous rugged head and massive figure. " I will improvise a sona- 
ta to the moonlight!" looking up thoughtfully to the sky and 
stars — then his hands dropped on the keys, and he began play- 
ing a sad and infinitely lovely movement, which crept gently 
over the instrument like the calm flow of moonlight over the 
dark earth. This was followed by a wild, elfin passage in triple 
time — a sort of grotesque interlude, like the dance of sprites 
upon the sward. Then came a swift agitato finale — a breathless, 
hurrying, trembling movement, descriptive of flight, and uncer- 
tainty, and vague impulsive terror, which carried us away on its 
rustling wrings, and left us all emotion and wonder. 

" Farewell to you," said Beethoven, pushing back his chair, 
and turning towards the door ; " farewell to you." 

"You will come again?" asked they in one breath. 

He paused, and looked compassionately, almost tenderly, at 
the face of the blind girl. " Yes, yes," he said, hurriedly, " I 
will come again, and give the fraulien some lessons. Farewell ! 
I will soon come again !" 

They followed us in silence more eloquent than words, and 
stood at their door till we were out of sight and hearing. 

" Let us make haste back," said Beethoven, " that I may write 
out that sonata while I can yet remember it !" We did so, and 
he sat over it till long past day-dawn. And this was the origin 
of that Moonlight Sonata with which we are all so fondly ac- 
quainted. 



SELECTIONS. 
L X X V I I I . 

MAUD MULLER. 

JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

Maud Muller on a summer's day, 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her meiTy glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But, when she glanced to the far-off town, 
White from its hill-slope looking down, 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing filled her breast — 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane. 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow, across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup. 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

" Thanks !" said the Judge, " a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand -was never quaffed." 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown. 
And her graceful ankles bare and brovrn. 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 



225 



226 



ELOCUTION. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah, me ! 
That I the Judge's bride might be ! 

"He would dress me up in silks so fine 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat ; 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

" I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 

And the baby should have a new toy each day ; 

" And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor. 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still. 

" A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er has it been my lot to meet. 

" And her modest answer and graceful air, 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

" Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay. 

" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

" But low of cattle, and song of birds. 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 

But he thought of his sisters proud and cold. 
And his mother vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on. 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in court an old love-tune ; 

And the young girl mused beside the well, 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He M^edded a wife of richest dower, 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
He watched a picture c'ome and go ; 



i 



SELECTIONS, 

And sweet Maud Ivluller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead ; 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms. 
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 

And the proud man sighed with a secret pain, 
"Ah, that I were free again ! 

" Free as when I rode that day, 

Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many children played round her door. 

But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 
Left their traces on heart and bram. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And, gazing down with timid grace. 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls, 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned. 
The tallow candle an astral burned, 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug. 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side she saw, 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only " It might have been." 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge. 

God pity them both ! and pity us all, 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall, 



227 



228 



ELOCUTION. 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these: " It might have been ! 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away ! 



ORATOR PUFF. 



THOMAS MOORE. 



1. Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice, 

The one speaking thus, and the other down so ; 
In each sentence he utter'd he gave you your choice • 
For one half was B alt, and the rest G below. 
Oh ! Oh ! Orator Puff, 
One voice for an orator's surely enough. 

2. But he still talk'd away, spite of coughs and of frowns. 
So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, 
That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, 

"My voice is for war," ask'd hmi, " Which of them pray?" 
Oh ! Oh ! Orator Puff, 
One voice for an orator's surely enough. 

3. Reeling homeward one evening, top-heavy with gin, 

And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, 
He tripp'd near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in ; 

''Sinking-fund" the last words, as his noddle came down. 
Oh ! Oh ! Orator Puff, 
One voice for an orator's surely enough. 

4. " Ho ! help !" he exclaim'd, in his he and she tones ; 

" Help me out ! help me out ! I have broken my bones !" 
" Help you out !" said a Paddy, who pass'd ; " what a bother ! 
Why, there's two of you there ; can't you help one another ?" 
Oh ! Oh ! Orator Puff, 
One voice for an orator's surely enough. 



SE_LECT10NS. 2 2Q 

LXXX . 

MOTHER AND POET. 

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the east, 

And one of them shot in the west by the sea. 
Dead ! both my boys ! when you sit at the feast 

And are wanting a great song for Italy free, 
Let none look at me ! 

Yet I was a poetess only last year, 

And good at my art, for a woman, men said, 
But this woman, this, who is agonized here, 

The east sea, and west sea rhyme on in her head 
Forever instead .' 

What art's for a woman ? To hold on her knees 

Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round her throat 

Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees. 

And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat ; 
To dream and to dote. 

To teach them. It stings there, / made them, indeed. 

Speak plain the \vord " country." / taught them, no doubt, 

That a country's a thing men should die for at need. 
I prated of liberty, rights, and about 
The tyrant turned out. 

And when their eyes flashed — O my beautiful eyes ! — 

I exulted ! Nay, let them go forth at the wheels 
Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise 

When one sits quite alone ! Then one weeps, then one kneels \ 
— God ! how the house feels ! 

At first happy news came, in gay letters moiled 

With my kisses, of camp-life and glory, and how 
They both loved me. and soon, coming home to be spoiled. 

In return would fan off every fly from my brow 
With their green laurel-bough. 

Then was triumph at Turin, " Ancona was free," 

And some one came out of the cheers in the street. 
With a face pale as stone, to say something to me. 

" My Guido was dead !" I fell down at his feet 
While they cheered in the street. 



2 ^Q ELOCUTION. 

I bore it ! friends soothed me ; my grief looked sublime 

As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained 
To be leant on, and walked with, recalling the time 

When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained 
To the height he had gained. 

And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong, 

Writ now but in one hand. I was not to faint. 
One loved me for two — would be with me ere long: 

And " Viva Italia" he died for, our saint, 
Who forbids our complaint. 

My Nanni would add he was safe, and aware 

Of a presence that turned off the balls — was imprest 
It was Guido himself who knew what I could bear 

And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossessed, 
To live on for the rest. 

On which without pause up the telegraph line, 

Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta : — " Shot. 
Teli his mother'' Ah! ah! "his," "their" mother, not "mine."' 

No voice says " my mother" again to me. What ! 
You think Guido forgot ? 

Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with heaven, 

They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe ? 
I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven 

Through that love and that sorrow which reconciles so 
The Above and Below. 

O Christ of the seven wounds, who look'dst through the dark 

To the face of thy mother ! consider, I pray, 
How we common mothers stand desolate, mark, 

Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, 
And no last word to say ! 

Both' boys dead ! but that's out of nature. We all 

Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. 

'Twere imbecile hewing out roads to a wall. 

And, when Italy's made, for what end is it done 
If we have not a son ? 

Ah ! ah ! ah ! when Gaeta's taken, what then ? 

When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport 
Of the fire-balls of death, crashing souls out of men, I 

When the guns of Cavalli with final retort \ 

Have cut the game short, — ^ 



SELECTIONS. 2-2 1 

When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee, 

When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red, 

When you have a country from mountain to sea, 
When King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, 
(And I have my dead,) 

What then ? Do not mock me. Ah ! ring your bells low, 
And burn your lights faintly. My country is there, 

Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow ; 
My Italy's there, with my brave civic pair. 
To disfranchise despair. 

Dead ! one of them shot by the sea in the east, 

And one of them shot in the west by the sea. 
Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast 

You want a great song for your Italy free, 
Let none look at me. 



LXX X I . 

DEACON STOKES. 

THOMAS QUI LP. 

1. There is something very curious in the manner 
In which you can twist words into rhymes. 

Single and double ; 

To see how one thing with another chimes ; 
That is, if you have wit enough to plan a 
Story, or something else to write about 
Without much trouble. 

2. Suppose we try it now ; one Asa Stokes, 
One of those men whom every thing provokes, 
A surly-tempered, evil minded, bearish, 
Ill-natured kind of being ; 

He was the deacon of the parish, 

And had the overseeing 

Of some small matters, such as the ringing 

Of the church-bell, and took the lead in singing. 

3. Well, Deacon Stokes had gone to bed, one night, 
About eleven or before, 

'T was in December, if my memory's right, in '24. 



232 



ELOCUTION, 

'Twas cold enough to make a Russian shiver ; 

I think I never knew one 

Colder than this, — in faith it v^as a blue one ! 

As by the almanac foretold, 't was 

A real Lapland night. Oh dear ! how cold 't was ! 

4. There was a chap about there named Ezekiel, 
V clever, good-for-nothing fellow. 

Who very often used to get quite mellow 

Of whom the Deacon always used to speak ill ; 

For he was fond of cracking jokes 

On Deacon Stokes, to show on 

What terms he stood among the women folks, and so on. 

5. It came to pass that on the night I speak of, 
Ezekiel left the tavern bar-room, where 

He spent the evening, for the sake of 

Drowning his care, by partaking 

Of the merry-making and enjoyment 

Of some good fellows there, whose sole employment 

Was, all kinds of weather, on every night. 

By early candle light, to get together 

Reading the papers, smoking pipes and chewing, 

Telling long yarns, and pouring down the ruin. 

6. Pretty well corned, and up to any thing. 
Drunk as a lord, and happy as a king, 

Blue as a razor, from his midnight revel. 

Nor fearing muskets, women, or the devil ; 

With a light heart — much lighter than a feather — 

With a light soul that spurned the freezing weather, 

And with a head ten times as light as either ; 

And a purse, perhaps, as light as all together. 

On went Ezekiel, with a great expansion 

Of thought, until he brought 

Up at a post before the Deacon's mansion. 

7. With one arm around the post, awhile he stood 
In thoughtful mood, with one eye turned 

Up toward the window where, with feeble glare, 

A candle burned ; 

Then with a serious face, and a grave, mysterious 

Shake of the head, Ezekiel said — 

(His right eye once more thrown upon the Deacon 

That from the window shone,) " I'll start the Deacon ! " 



SELECTIONS. 9'''' 

8. Rap, rap, rap, rap, went Deacon Stokes' knocker. 
But no one stirred ; rap , rap, it went again ; 
*' By George, it must be after ten, or 
They must take an early hour for turning in." 
Rap, rap, rap, rap, — " My conscience how they keep 
A fellow waiting — Patience, how they sleep !" 

g. The Deacon then began to be alarmed. 
And in amazement threw up the casement ; 
And with cap on head, of fiery red, 
Demanded what the cause was of the riot, 
That thus disturbed his quiet. 

10. " Quite cool this evening. Deacon Stokes," replied 
The voice below. " Well, sir, what is the matter ? " 

" Quite chilly. Deacon : how your teeth do chatter ! " 

"You vagabond, a pretty time you have chosen 

To show your wit ; for I am almost frozen ; 

Be off or I will put the lash on ! " 

*' Why bless you. Deacon, do n't be in a passion ! " 

'T was all in vain to speak again. 

For with the Deacon's threat about the lash, 

Down went the sash. 

11. Rap, rap, rap, rap, the knocker went again. 
And neither of them was a very light rap ; 

Thump, thump, against the door went Ezekiel's cane, 
And that once more brought Deacon Stoke's night-cap. 

12. "Very cold weather. Deacon Stokes, to-night ! " 
" Begone, you vile, insolent dog, or I'll 

Give you a warming that shall serve you right ; 

You villain, it is time to end the hoax ! " 

*' Why bless your soul and body. Deacon Stokes, 

Don't be so cross when I've come here, in this severe 

Night, which is cold enough to kill a horse. 

For your advice upon a very difficult and nice 

Question. Now, bless you, do make haste and dress you." 

13. "Well, well, out with it, if it must be so ; 
Be quick about it, I'm ver)' cold." 

" Well, Deacon, I don't doubt it, 

In a few words the matter can be told. 

Deacon the case is this : I want to know 

If this cold weather lasts all summer here, — 

WTiat time will green peas come along next year?" 



., ^ . ELOCUTION. 

LXXXII. 

THE THREE SONS. 

MOULTRIE. 

I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old. 

With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle mold ; 

They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears, 

That my child is grave and v^^ise of heart, beyond his childish years, 

I can not say how this may be : I know his face is fair, 

And yet his chiefest comeliness is his sweet and serious air. 

I know his heart is kind and fond ; I know he loveth me, 

But loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fervency ; 

But that which others most admire is the thought which fills his mind ; 

The food for grave inquiring speech, he everywhere doth find. 

Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk ; 

He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk. 

Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes not on bat or ball, 

But looks on manhood's ways and works and aptly mimj-cs all. 

His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes perplexed 

With thoughts about this world of ours, and thoughts about the next. 

He kneels at his dear mother's knee ; she teacheth him to pray, 

And strange, and sweet, and solemn then, are the words which he will say. 

Oh, should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like me, 

A holier and a wiser man I trust that he will be ; 

And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow, 

I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now. 

I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three ; 

I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be. 

How silver sweet those tones of his, when he prattles on my knee ; 

I do not think his light blue eye is, like his brother's, keen, 

Nor his brow so full of childish thought, as his hath ever been ; 

But his little heart's a fountain pure, of kind and tender feeling. 

And his every look's a gleam of light, rich depths of love revealing. 

When he walks with me, the country folk v/ho pass us in the street 

Will speak their joy, and bless my boy — he looks so mild and sweet. 

A playfellow he is to all, and yet, with cheerful tone, 

Will sing his little song of love, when left to sport alone. 

His presence is like sunshine, sent to gladden home and hearth, 

To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all our mirth. 

Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his heart may prove 

As sweet a home for heavenly grace, as now for earthly love ; -^ 



SELECTIONS, ^ ^ ^ 

And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must dim, 
God comfort us for all the love which we shall lose in him. 

I have a son, a third sweet son ; his age I can not tell, 
For they reckon not by years and months, where he is gone to dwell. 
To us, for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given, 
And then he bade farewell to earth, and went to live in heaven. 
I can not tell what form his is, what looks he weareth now, 
Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow. 
The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss which he doth feel, 
Are number'd with the secret things which God will not reveal. 
But I know (for God hath told me this) that he is now at rest, 
Where other blessed infants are — on their Saviour's loving breast. 
I know his spirit feels no more this weary load of flesh, 
But his sleep is blest with endless dreams of joy forever fresh, 
I know the angels fold him close beneath their glittering wings, 
And soothe him with a song that breathes of heaven's divinest things. 
We trust that we shall meet our babe, (his mother dear and I,) 
Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears from every eye. 
Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss can never cease ; 
Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his is certain peace. 
When we think of what our darling is, and what we still must be ; 
When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, and this world's misery ; 
W.hen we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel this grief and pain ; 
Oh ' we'd rather lose our other two, than have him here again. 



L X X X 1 1 1. 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain. 

Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain ; 

Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 

And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed ; 

Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease. 

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please ; 

How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 

AMiere humble happiness endeared each scene ! 

How often have I paused on every charm ; — 

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 

The never-failing brook, the busy mill. 



236 



ELOCUTION. 

The decent church that topped the neighboring hill ; 

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 

For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 

How often have I blessed the coming day, 

When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play ; 

And all the village train, from labor free. 

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ; 

While many a pastime circled in the shade. 

The young contending as the old surveyed : 

And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, 

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round ; 

And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired : — 

The dancing pair, that simply sought renown, 

By holding out to tire each other down ; 

The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face, 

While secret laughter tittered round the place ; 

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love ; 

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove ; — 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, 

With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please. 

Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close. 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 
There as I passed, with careless steps and slow. 
The mingling notes came softened from below ; 
The swain, responsive as the milk-maid sung ; 
The sober herd, that lowed to meet their young ; 
The noisy geese, that gabbled o'er the pool ; 
The playful children, just let loose from school : 
The watch-dog's voice, that bayed the whispering wind ; 
And the loud laugh, that spoke the vacant mind ; — 
These, all, in sweet confusion, sought the shade. 
And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 



APPENDIX, 



PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 
CONDITIONS OF ITS ATTAINMENT. 

S. N. GRIFFITH, A. M. 

What appears in this brief article is offered, not as an exhaust- 
ive treatise, but as a mere outline to stimulate inquiry ; to be 
read, marked, inwardly digested. Let no one suppose that be- 
cause all the conditions here mentioned do not meet in his case, 
therefore he can not attain to pulpit eloquence. All the sug- 
gestions here given are general. They must be interpreted by 
the aid of such reservations as these : " other things being 
equal,"' and "circumstances being suitable." They must be 
appropriated by the use of good roundabout common sense. 

He who would attain to pulpit eloquence must have an in- 
tense desire for its attainment, reasonable grounds that he is 
capable of it, faith to expect success, and untiring and persist- 
ent effort, until he is accomplishing his purpose. 

Accessory to, and a part of, these conditions are others which 
it is attempted briefly to give. 

Family religion lies at the foundation of many of the grand- 
est pulpit characters which the ages have produced. Pulpit 
power may be inherited, incarnated. The influences thrown 
around the child may fructify his nature for this specific calling. 
A mother's ardent prayers, and soul-filling, holy ambition for 
her son, if judiciously felt and expressed, may shape in early 
years the whole future character toward power in this direction. 

Church organizations, congregations of believers, in which 
worship is generously supported on its financial side, in which 
237 



2^g ELOCUTION. 

the social meetings are largely attended and pervaded by ^ 
deep spirituality, in which the worship of God is a delight, and 
honorable, are gardens of the Lord for the development of pul- 
pit power. 

Revivals of religion, deep, persuasive, scriptural, permanent, 
healthful, are a fruitful source of ministerial talent. From 
among those turned to God in great and true revivals, have 
come men who have gone on reproducing in their own ministry 
the dawn scenes of their own spiritual life. Listening to elo- 
quence from the pulpit, reading the Word of God, and other 
religious reading, help to give the mind a tendency m the di- 
rection of the pulpit. 

In whatever form or from whatever source as a means, whether 
in any of the directions indicated, or by apparently special di- 
vine interference, the desire or sense of obligation to preach 
may come, it must include what is generally known as a divine 
call to the ministry. '" He is called to preach who wants to 
preach and can preach." He also is called who niust^ or is 
driven to, preach, whether he thinks he can or not. The call to 
preach contains two elements : inward, the action of the mind 
and heart, the thoughts often dwelling on the subject; and, out- 
ward, the inquiry of God's people of such a one if he does not 
feel a sense of willingness or obligation in this direction. 

The mind being settled and fixed in this conviction, or in the 
conviction of duty to prepare for a life in the pulpit, a judicious 
use of the facilities afforded by institutions of learning is an im- 
portant condition of success. To what extent one may avail 
himself of these helps will depend on the time in life at which the 
mind becomes clear in its convictions. Age, and other cir- 
cumstances allowing, the full use of preparatory, collegiate, and 
professional training, is best. 

To make the most of these advantages there are needed a 
strong constitution, good health, a sufficiency of brain and a 
large heart. The importance of school training is not likely to 
be over-estimated. Voice and gesture must be cultivated on 
the basis of one's own individuality, with great care to avoid 
imitation of the mannerisms of masters, preceptors, or pro- 
fessors. 



APPENDIX. ^^_ 

The earlier years of ministerial life should be spent in charges 
of moderate responsibility that there may be ample time for 
reading and development in every accessory direction. 

In active life in the ministry nothing can supply the place of 
deep, earnest, glowing, enlightened piety. A minister preaches, 
not only by what he says, but by what he is. He must have a 
strong conception of the magnitude and true dignity of the 
preacher's work, and an absorbing love for it. That love must 
be manifested by zeal and faithfulness. Preaching must be the 
great business of his life. He must cultivate the habit of mak- 
ing everything subservient to preaching. He must aim only at 
true success, which is measured by the number persuaded to 
begin and continue a new life. His life must be holy and his 
example full of influence for good. He must have the spirit, 
and be assiduous in the practice, of deep devotion, and above all, 
he must have the unction of the Holy Ghost. 

He must cultivate health of body, cheerfulness of mind, and 
a good flow of animal spirits. He must be a careful student of 
human nature, and know how to approach men. He must cul- 
tivate tact. 

As mental characteristics he needs imagination, (in the sense 
of being able to see the invisible,) emotion, enthusiasm, and 
faith. 

In his study he must be faithful, and everything must con- 
verge on the Word of God. He must carefully avoid plagiar- 
ism. 

His sermons must possess adaptation, variety, and a judi- 
cious abundance of illustrations. 

In his elocution he must attend to articulation and ges- 
ture. He must carefully avoid awkwardness, carelessness, 
haughtiness, and harshness; formality, levity, monotony, and dull- 
ness. The excellences to be acquired are, ease and refinement, 
self-possession and serenity of mind, gravity and earnestness. 

Let his manner on entering the pulpit be characterized by 
gravity and solemnity. He should keep still during unoccupied 
time ; take sufficient time ; act with deliberation ; give the con- 
gregation time to find the hymn before reading. Let the hymn 
and Scripture lesson be read slowly and with deep interest m 



^.Q ELOCUTION. 

what is read. The voice must express earnestness without 
affectation, and variety of sentiment without ranting. 

In prayer he must be careful to avoid indistinctness, too 
great loudness, irrelevance, sameness, repetitions, too great 
length, and too much gesticulation. His prayer " should be 
characterized by solemnity, fervor, and dignity, accompanied by 
the earnestness of faith, hope, and love, and crowned by the in- 
fluence of the Holy Ghost helping his infirmities." 

To crown all, after every preparation has been honestly and 
faithfully made, the soul of him who would be truly eloquent in 
the pulpit must fall back and rely upon especial divine assis- 
tance, enlightening the mind, warming the heart, guiding the 
judgment, invigorating the whole being, putting the whole 
might, mind, soul, and strength into harmony with the will of 
God concerning what is needed to be accomplished by each 
pulpit effort. 










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